


I always carry a gun when I'm alone with you

by FalliciousPuns



Series: Fiedler's Llamas [3]
Category: The Spy Who Came in from the Cold - John Le Carré
Genre: Fleamas, I have no self-control, M/M, Mentions of Control - Freeform, dark!fiedler, fiedler is asexual, jalec - Freeform, leamas is not, my goal is for them to slam each other into walls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-08 13:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalliciousPuns/pseuds/FalliciousPuns
Summary: Fiedler was elegant, sure of the game he was playing.  He was beautiful as well, but Leamas knew that.  But under all the graceful movements and eloquent words, Fiedler was cruel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is darker than I thought it would turn out to be - when I'd read the page when fiedler actually says he carries a gun I'd imagined it WAY more fluffy and sweet (so maybe I'll do another fic :)))))))

They were in the park again.  Leamas had found that although they never took the same route through the small woods twice, they somehow always managed to end up at this bench by the pond.  Fiedler sometimes brought bread for the ducks, but today it had been too cold.

“Tell me about Control.”  Fiedler’s eyes were piercing today.  Suddenly, Leamas felt like shivering.  “I've heard some interesting things about him.  Driven.  Although no one quite knows by what.”  Fiedler licked his lips, and Leamas knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I suppose you believe that the more you know about Control’s ‘drive’, his ‘philosophy’, the more you can predict him.  Well forget it.  No one knows anything about him.”

Leamas stared into Fiedler's eyes.  His stomach twinged with something like fear as he saw Fiedler’s eyes glitter with hunger.  

“Oh, Mister Leamas, I’m _sure_ you'll provide more than enough information to analyze ‘Control’.”  He chuckled softly, as if to himself.

Leamas coughed.  “You're very odd, Fiedler.  Do you get a rise from this?  Dissecting people?”  He didn't like the look in Fiedler’s eyes.  Cold and calculating, but fueled by some passion that Alec couldn't understand.  Fear bubbled in his stomach as he thought of that  _ hunger _ being turned on Control.

He wasn’t particularly fond of Control, but the old man had a son, that much he knew from the old days they'd spent drinking just after the war.  By now he probably had grandchildren.  If Fiedler found out about any weaknesses… well, Leamas didn’t want to think about it.

Fiedler, while he seemed kind enough, was ruthless.  

He had a way of talking that would tie a mind in knots.  He was an expert in manipulating emotions to lower a man’s guard, as Leamas had found out countless times when he had almost let something vital slip.  He seemed to know what Alec was thinking.  

Only belief in Control’s plan kept Leamas from cracking, and even then, the secrets slipped from his tongue too quickly, too easily, under Fiedler’s careful manipulation.

“What is his desk like?” Fiedler asked, casually.  

_ There's always a cup of coffee.  There are always new books.  There's a locked drawer in his desk. _  Leamas had to restrain himself from letting these slip.

“I would imagine it’s quite crowded,” Fiedler said carelessly.

“No, Control is always neat,” Leamas responded automatically, then cursed himself silently.  He’d given away information about Control.  It didn't matter how insignificant it seemed, Fiedler had already taught him how telling these small details were.

Fiedler smiled.  Alec twitched.  He knew that Fiedler knew what he was thinking.  “And,” the German continued, “do tell me where he’s from.”

“I don't know, Fiedler,” Alec said.  It was a pathetic half-lie.  His own voice sounded weak, as if he were begging the other man to stop plucking these secrets from his mind.  

Fiedler looked at Leamas, eyes penetrating deep into his mind.  Fielder knew he was concealing something.

Jens Fiedler placed a long finger to the side of his face.  His dark blue suit shifted, clinging to his thin frame.  They were sitting at the bench and Fiedler was crossing his legs.  He looked like a picture of Oscar Wilde.

Leamas could see Fiedler’s chest rise and fall in time with his long lashes. 

“He does a good posh accent, so most people assume his family is in politics, but a Scottish accent comes out when he gets drunk.  But he's hardly ever drunk, in fact I only saw him drunk once and that was in ‘45 just after the Americans had-” Leamas stopped his rambling in horror.  What was he doing?  How many secrets had he let slip in a single sentence?  Fiedler was walking all over him! 

Fiedler licked his lips hungrily.  “Interesting.  Although I doubt an officer of Control’s character would slip up as easily as that.  It may be a false lead,” he muttered to himself.  He kept gazing into Alec’s eyes, a little half-smirk playing about his lips.

“I suppose I've pushed you enough about Control for now.  On to a more,” he paused grin splitting his face, “delicate topic.”

Leamas shuddered.  It wasn’t just the ducks who wanted to flee the cold.

“Tell me about your wife.”  

Instantly, Leamas felt a red hot flame lick up the back of his throat.  He gritted his teeth.  “Why the  _ hell _ do you want to know about her Fiedler?  I haven't spoken to her in years, you rotten-”

He was interrupted by Fiedler's laugh.  Leamas found it eerie.  It was like a wind chime: at once beautiful, delicate and natural, but at the same time piercing, icy and a harbinger of a heavy storm.

“Why the  _ fuck _ do you want to know about my  _ ex _ -wife?” Leamas demanded.

Fiedler rested a finger on one of his high cheekbones, wetting his lips so that they glistened, strangely red in the noonday sun.

“I value honesty, Mister Leamas, so I shall answer your question perfectly honestly,” Fiedler began calmly.  “An interrogator's objective is to obtain the maximum amount of information from the subject.  I've found personally, that a subject will part with their knowledge under many circumstances, but the one I most prefer is when the subject is absolutely broken.  They then offer no resistance to questioning, are compliant, and volunteer information willingly.  It is that, Mister Leamas, which I am doing to you, although you may be too distracted to see it.”

Leamas did not realize he had lunged for Fiedler with an outstretched fist until his knuckles connected with the German’s hollow face.  He didn’t know why he did it.  It wasn’t as if he was unused to being manipulated.  After all, that was what all of Control’s plans revolved around didn’t they? 

However, no sooner than that had happened, he found himself on the ground in Fiedler’s grip.  For such a wiry man, he had surprising strength, lashing forward unexpectedly.  Leamas didn't attempt to resist.  He realized that even if he did manage to escape, there was no way to get out of East Germany.

Something cold was pressed to his Adam's apple.  A pistol.  Fiedler hadn't seemed the type of man to do his own dirty work.

Fiedler bent over and his breath burned in Leamas’ ear as the interrogator hissed,  “In order to break you, I must know how you will think.  Thanks to your rash actions a moment ago, I know more about you now than you could ever  _ dream _ .”

Fiedler drew a long finger up the side of Leamas’ face.  All Leamas could smell was earth and grass.  “Thank you,” he said calmly seeming unaffected by the growing bruise on his cheek, “Now get up.”

Leamas stood up, brushing dirt off his shirt.  “Didn't know you used a gun,” he muttered, trying to sound condescending.

“I always carry a gun when I'm alone with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME TO MULTICHAPTER THE FRIKK OUTTA THIS


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leamas is under Fiedler's spell.

The next few interrogation sessions were tense.  Fiedler acted the same as always.  Indifferent in demeanor, but with a hunger that Leamas could sense lay just beneath the surface.  

Leamas was tight lipped.  He refused to answer Fiedler's questions.  He refused to play Fiedler's game.

Determined not to expose any secrets that weren't vital to the plan, he rarely spoke, allowing the uncomfortable silence to stretch ever longer.  He had far too much to admire Fiedler’s features.

Light falling across the German’s face illuminated his hair, making it seem a golden brown and shining through his irises and making them look like a cat’s eyes.  His face was clean shaven, as usual, showing off a nearly unhealthy thinness.  

He knew Fiedler’s first name, but refused to believe he actually had one.   _ He’s a monster _ , he tried to remind himself when he caught himself staring.  

He tried not to think of the high cheekbones, the dark, long lashes, the collarbone always slightly exposed under Fiedler's shirt.  About how Fiedler’s chest moved when he breathed.

“Tell me about George Smiley.  Mundt has mentioned him a few times, but has never gone into any depth.  As I understand it he's quite good- spent some time in Germany during the war, did he not?”

Silence.  Although Leamas knew that the plan relied on him cooperating with the Germans, he was frozen in fear.  What if Fiedler found out about the plan?  What if Fiedler found out about Smiley?  Smiley’s wife?  Smiley’s weaknesses?  Was it worth taking revenge on Mundt if all he got in return was the deaths of what few friends he had left in the service?  

Control would have said yes.  Smiley would not have said anything.  

Once upon a time, right after Riemeck had tumbled off his bike and into the snow, staining it bright red, Leamas would have said yes.  But now, after meeting Liz, he felt as if nothing was worth anything anymore.  He wanted revenge, but he also realized that without people to celebrate it with, vengeance was worthless.

And the silence stretched.

Fiedler sighed, leaning forward.  The old wood creaked satisfyingly under Fiedler’s negligible weight, giving Leamas an excuse to stare at the German’s knees, and maybe a bit above that.  “Mister Leamas, as an interrogator, I am obliged to use all tools at my disposal to extract answers from you.”  Leamas couldn’t tear his eyes away from Fiedler’s long, thin fingers, interlaced over a slender knee.

They were sitting in chairs outside at the country safehouse.  Fiedler slowly slid out of his chair and walked forward, crouching so that he and Alec were at eye level.  Perhaps there was something in his eyes that denied analysis.  Perhaps they were truly devoid of all emotion.

Fiedler’s pale hands gripped Leamas’ shoulders.  

“Fiedler-”  _ What is happening?  What the fuck does he think he’s doing? _

The German’s long fingers slid up Leamas’ neck and though his hair.  The motion was ever so slow, it hurt.  Leamas knew exactly what Fiedler was doing.  

Fiedler’s fingers ran through Leamas’ hair, drawing their faces closer together.  Slowly.  Tantalizingly.  As every moment went by, Leamas was struck by the ever-burning fear that Fiedler was going to pull away, let him stew, intoxicated.  

Fiedler knew everything about him, Alec realized.  He knew how Leamas felt when  _ Jens- no- _ Fiedler looked this deeply into his eyes.  And Fiedler knew that Alec knew.  There was a cuoy little smile hovering over Fiedler’s lips.  He knew he was winning at this game.  

As Fiedler’s lips brushed tantalizingly against his own, Leamas leaned into it without realizing it.  His own hands reached up to the back of Fiedler’s head, pulling him in further.  His hair felt like feathers.  Fidler seemed surprised at his readiness but let himself be pulled in, smiling.  

In total control.

Fiedler smelled  _ soft _ .  Faintly sweet as if he had been lying in a grave of flowers.  And yet Alec could sense that hunger there still, and he registered the fact that Fiedler was only kissing him this way for the secrets he could reveal.

Leamas didn't care, for some reason.  After all, how important could anything be, compared to this?  Fiedler was intoxicating.

“George Smiley was recruited in ‘29 at Cambridge,” Leamas murmured into Fiedler’s hair.  “He has,” he took a deep breath, savouring the feeling of his face in Fiedler’s hair, “a house in England, and one in Germany.  He loves Germany.  Loves the plays, the writing, the tragedy.”  He whispered the addresses of Smiley’s houses into Fiedler’s ear in between kisses.

“Good,” Fiedler responded distantly, pulling away from their embrace.  The look that followed him was one of obsession.  Leamas was truly under his spell.

“You may call me Jens if you wish,” Fiedler said distantly.  He himself didn't know if he'd felt any surge of emotion at their embrace.  He'd gone into it thinking he was just doing his job, exploiting Leamas’ weakness in love.

He left Leamas sitting at the chair and went into the house.  It looked as if it were about to rain.  Leamas didn't look as if he would move.  He was still frozen, staring straight ahead, mind in turmoil and conflict about what he had just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK ITS SHORT I KNOW but it wouldn't work if I combined it with the next chapter :////
> 
> ALSO PLEASE CALL ME OUT ON ENGLISH MISTAKES PLEASE


	3. This is the way to kill a wife; with kindness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters like Fiedler did not have names like ‘Jens'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh the tiny amount of darkness in this fic is taking a short break but will return Darker Than Ever™ next time (maybe????TOTALLY?????)

Leamas’ bedroom had become more homely in the weeks he had stayed in Fiedler's safehouse.  Where there were once bare walls,  there now hung little charcoal drawings, of ducks, cups of coffee, the view out of the window, and other small pieces of life preserved in shades of grey.

The drawings were very in-keeping with socialist art.  Centered on life and the working class.  Here and there were charcoal sketches of a box of nails, or a pair of shoes.  There was even a picture of interlocking hands, old, weathered and wrinkled with callouses.

Fiedler had donated these pictures to him on account that he “had too many”.  Leamas thought the sketch artist must be Fiedler, although he'd never actually seen the man pick up a stump of charcoal.

At university he’d had a few friends who dabbled in the arts.  They would always come to class with paint on their face and without an explanation of how it had gotten there.  Leamas suppressed a chuckle at the thought of Fiedler with a line of charcoal dust on his nose, or the palms of his hands covered in graphite smudges.

Where the desk had once been bare, there was now a vase with water (although it was empty) and a small alarm clock.  The drawers now contained all Leamas’ clothes.  He'd run through them in under two weeks, but somehow they never got too dirty, for every once in a while Leamas would find one of his shirts on the washing line, then neatly pressed and folded on his bed.  Again, he had the sneaking suspicion that Fiedler cleaned his clothes for him.

_ Creep, _ Leamas accused silently, sitting on his bed,  _ Bet he sniffs the damned underpants too. _

Yes, that did seem like something ‘you may call me Jens’ Fiedler would do.  Nothing would be below observation, every detail would be used to understand ‘the subject of interrogation’, which in this case was Leamas.

He was still slightly in shock about what had just happened.  He realized vaguely that what he had murmured into Fiedler’s ear was possibly very important, but his mind seemed to just… skip over that.  

No, Leamas thought, the thing that stood out most of all was the way Fiedler’s frame felt against his own. 

Leamas would laugh off the fact that the last time he'd had anything close to an intimate moment was when he'd been with Liz, several months ago.  Leamas might cringe, if he'd been the sort of man who would have allowed himself to cringe, if he'd been reminded that the last time he'd felt a touch that wasn't a punch or accidental brush of the shoulder had been in 1942 when he'd made the mistake of falling asleep in a park in Poland.  He'd awoken to that experience at the gentle, caring, loving caress of a pickpocket’s fingers as the poor fellow had tried to tease a few coins out of Leamas’ jacket.  

It was pitiful.

In any case, feeling Fiedler against him had relit something inside Leamas that in his younger days he would've called “romance”.  He'd felt safe and protected under Fiedler’s light body, as their chests were pressed together while their hands had run through each other's hair.  Fiedler’s heartbeat was loud and maybe quick, Leamas couldn’t remember.  He only recalled the rhythmic  _ thud-ud  _ that was so clear through the thin layer of clothing and skin.

_ Shit _ .  What was he doing?  He had just given away Smiley’s home address for God’s sake!   _ Fiedler’s using you, _ a tiny voice was constantly screaming.  _  He’s using you _ .

There was a low knock at the door.  

“Yes Fiedler?” Alec demanded, trying to sound ticked out of his mind.  Fiedler was the house’s only other occupant, and Leamas had never been in his room.   _ Not that I'd want to _ , he thought, trying to convince himself.

Fiedler opened the door a crack.  “Dinner.”  He moved to close it, but Leamas stopped him with a word he hadn’t meant to utter.

“Fiedler,” he said.  He refused to call him Jens, he would  _ never _ call him Jens, monsters like Fiedler did not have names like ‘Jens’.  “Why did you do that?”

They both knew what they were talking about.

“It was the most efficient method of obtaining information,” Fiedler said tonelessly.  Such a mechanical answer wrenched at Leamas’ heart.  God, did Fiedler have no soul?  The man described their kisses like laboratory trials, precise and emotionless, despite having some importance.

Leamas pulled his mask back on, the one of British bravado.  “Well I'd sincerely appreciate it if you’d stop taking advantage of my good nature to get bloody information from me,” he said derisively.

Fiedler opened the door wider.  He wore a satisfied little smirk.  “Well then in that case Mister Leamas, perhaps you should stop making it so easy.”  And with that he shut the door.

“Go fuck yourself,” Leamas said to the closed door.  A chuckle from outside the room let him know that his comment had been heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short again but I have to study for School™ and probably won't update for a while D'''''': 
> 
>  
> 
> PS:  
> the unofficial second title of this work is  
> "This is the way to kill a wife; with kindness." (quoted from my man shakespeare (taming of the shrew) the OG fav)
> 
> EDIT: ok it's a bit longer now and has fewer english mistakes huzzah


	4. The Man Who Had No Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiedler flashed him his most sly smile, enjoying Leamas’ discomfort. “It means that you are one step closer in being unable to deny me answers, Mister Leamas.” He spoke the last words mockingly. Fiedler had no need to be respectful towards Alec; Alec was a puppet between his fingers. Between his long, cold, delicate fingers.

 

Fiedler cooked dinner, of course.  The safehouse had a small but well equipped kitchen, with gleaming pots and pans hanging from racks above the stove, which doubled as an oven.  Ironically it looked like a kitchen from an American advertisement, picturesquely capitalist.  It hadn't occurred to Leamas that Fiedler was obsessed with knowing and influencing every part of his life, including what he ate, until Fiedler had outright told him so.  Now he was beginning to spot Fiedler’s interference everywhere. 

Leamas stared down at the uniform potatoes, sausage and sauerkraut.  He snorted.  “It’s just so German,” he explained to Fiedler, holding up a fork with a speared sausage on the end.

Fiedler was about to say something sarcastic in retort when the phone rang from where it lay on the kitchen counter.  The harsh  _ brrrring-brrrring _ echoed through the empty house.  Fiedler stood up mutely and picked it up, raising the handpiece to his ear with the grace of one giving a toast with champagne.  

“This is Fiedler.”  Cold.  Empty.  It wasn’t that his voice was hollow, it was that it was so carefully controlled that it was impossible to analyze.  Fiedler’s emotions were buried so deep, Leamas almost believed that the German had lost them.

Leamas couldn’t hear the reply.

“No.  I’m not done with him yet.  Tell Comrade-”  Had it been Leamas’ imagination or had Fiedler glanced at him briefly?

Fiedler switched to German, his words sliding off the tongue more rapidly now.  “Ja. Sag Kamerad Mundt, dass er-”   _ Yes.  Tell Comrade Mundt that he will get a chance with him when I'm done.  No.  I don’t have adequate information, I'm missing something _ .  

He leaned against the wall, cupping his elbow in his other hand that was crossed over his chest.  He looked at Leamas.  “Ja-”  _ Yes.  He’s listening.  And he’s not an idiot, he speaks German.  Of course I told him.   _ Pause. _  Because there’s nothing he can do about it.  His own fear will loosen his tongue. _  There was a long pause.

“ _ He’ll be singing soon enough.  I- _ ” he paused.  Fiedler’s face darkened almost imperceptibly.  He looked up at Leamas and sighed.  “ _ As much as I would like to, Comrade Werner, I do not think it advisable until I’ve fully broken him down, and at that point your suggested course of action would not be necessary _ .”

A long silence. 

“ _ Very well.  If that’s what Comrade Mundt wishes _ .   _ How soon?  Very well, until then. _ ”  

Fiedler was very good.  He hid his emotions almost too well.  Leamas wouldn’t have guessed that the German was angry if he hadn’t spotted the way his eyes had somehow become wilder at the edges.

Fiedler put down the phone and let out a sinister chuckle while running a hand through his own hair.  Was it a trick of the light, or were the interrogator’s hands shaking?

“About me?” Leamas asked, mock-politely.

Fiedler nodded, his eyes glazing over as if he had just spotted something in the distance.  “Yes.  It seems that Comrade Mundt wants you to give us information more quickly.  Accelerate the interrogation process.”  Fiedler’s lips looked as if they'd just swallowed something sour.  He hummed, like he often did when he was thinking and didn’t want to be interrupted.

“What?  You don’t want that?”  Leamas felt goosebumps prickle up his arms.  For someone who seemed so dedicated to his job, Fiedler wasn't looking happy.

“Accelerating the interrogation would require methods that are less... effective.”

Leamas blinked.  “Torture?”  His mouth felt dry.  

Fiedler actually smiled.  “No.  Quite a lot worse, I should think,” he said, sitting back down at the table.  His eyes twinkled like cold, hard starlight.  “Now eat.  It is not worth my time to interrogate an ill subject.”

He watched as Leamas ate the rest of his meal.  The food on his own plate remained untouched.

“Aren't you going to eat your own slop?” Leamas asked angrily, pushing the remaining sauerkraut around his plate aimlessly.  It was remarkable how Fiedler could make the food taste as good as it did.  Leamas, unlike Smiley, could not stomach the German stuff, unless it seemed, Fiedler was the one cooking it.

“Later,” Fiedler said, waving his hand.  He was far away again, thinking about parts of a plan of which Leamas knew only the smallest pieces about.  

Leamas rather liked when he did that.  It gave him an opportunity to stare at Fiedler's face without the risk of earning a sharp word.  

Everything about the man was precise.  Fiedler’s face seemed eternally youthful, perfectly symmetrical, his hair always neatly brushed, his tie always straight, his shirt always crisp.  Vaguely Leamas wondered if any of this was a reflection of Fiedler’s real personality, or if his perfection merely the product of communism given human form.

He wondered briefly what Fiedler had been like before he joined the Party.  Had he been anyone then?  How did love feel to him then?  What had he  _ really _ been like?

“Leamas, if you don't keep your thoughts on a tight leash, you will lose all your secrets,” Fiedler said, seeing Alec’s gaze out of the corner of his eye.  He knew.  Fiedler always knew what Alec knew.  “And I’m afraid that those secrets are all you’re worth.”

Leamas wondered what had made Fiedler change.

 

\---

 

Fiedler did drink.  Not a lot, but he did.  

“You know, if you didn't drink, I'd be tempted to believe that you aren't really human,” Leamas said the next morning.  Time meant nothing at the safehouse, and they both drank whenever they felt like it.

Fiedler gave a short laugh, made to set Leamas at ease, make him more malleable, susceptible to his mind games, rather than a genuine expression of enjoyment.  “I’d be tempted to believe that you’re a fish for alcohol.  It's like you can't breathe without a glass of beer.”  His face darkened as he thought.  “Comrade Mundt, you know, he only ever drinks coffee.”  Fiedler was silent, then said quietly, “always black, no sugar.”

Leamas, sensing a change in mood, sat down in an armchair, cupping his beer in his hands.

Fiedler hummed.  “Mmh.  Rolling Stone.  An interesting name.  What does it mean?”

Leamas laughed.  It was odd.  Yesterday he'd felt threatened, anxious even, at Fiedler's plans to interrogate him.  But these were the same sorts of questions Fiedler had thrown at him before.  While he would have to watch his tongue, and not be drawn in by the interrogator’s games, this wasn't what he would call ‘quite a lot worse’ than torture.  

Leamas shrugged.  “Operation names are always flamboyant in the Circus.  They’re even worse over in America.”

Fiedler’s eyes narrowed.  Leamas noticed, for about the hundredth time, the interrogator's eyelashes.  “From what you've given me about Control,” he said, smiling as Leamas winced as he remembered how he had let that information slip, “he has an eye for style, for symbolism.”

“Oh lah-dee-dah, Fiedler, this isn't some literary work you can just analyze,” Leamas said derisively.

“A rolling stone will do more damage if it rolls down from higher up,” the other man said calmly, cutting Leamas off.

“Not this again,” Leamas said, rolling his eyes.  “For the last time, Riemeck was as high as we’d gotten-”

There was a knock at the door.  Both men were taken by surprise: Leamas froze and covered his head as if to protect himself from a shower of bullets, while Fiedler’s hand went straight to the pocket where Alec now knew he kept his gun.

“Comrade Fiedler!”  Another heavy knock.

Fiedler got up and stalked to the door, ordering Leamas to stay still with a look.

A few minutes later, he returned, expression as blank as ever.  Alec had stood up.

“I'm going to Berlin for a few days.  Urgent business that relates to the information you've relayed to me.  If you attempt to escape, you will be shot, is that understood?”

Leamas frowned.  “What do you mean, ‘information that I've relayed to you’?  What’s happened in Berl-”

Fiedler stalked forward until his face was a few inches from Alec’s.  Leamas backed up, right into a wall.  Fiedler gently placed a hand on Leamas’ collarbone, delicate fingers wrapping around his shoulder like the legs of a deadly spider.  With his other hand Fiedler's fingers traced their way up Leamas’ neck.  Fiedler’s hands were cold.  It was as if the man had no blood, no warmth, no heart in him.  

He shuddered.  He wanted to run, wanted to curl up and hide.

Fiedler flashed him his most sly smile, enjoying Leamas’ discomfort.  “It means that you are one step closer in being unable to deny me answers, Mister Leamas.”  He spoke the last words mockingly.  Fiedler had no need to be respectful towards Alec; Alec was a puppet between his fingers.  Between his long, cold, delicate fingers.

An icy shard was slowly sinking down into Alec’s stomach, even as his neck began to blush at their proximity.

He had never seen Fiedler this hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE AN EXAM   
> enjoy
> 
>  
> 
> ps i can't wait to write the next chapter tbh its gonna be gr8 and dark  
> pps i write all my fav characters the same way: control freaks


	5. Apparently not worse than what is yet to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It truly was worse than torture, although Leamas knew the worst was yet to come.

Fiedler left almost immediately after, taking nothing but a briefcase with him.  Leamas watched him go, sliding his pale frame into a car and disappearing behind the trees a few moments later, leaving him with nothing but the fading sounds of crunching gravel.  

Lemas was torn.  He wanted to know what the hell was going on in Berlin and what was going to happen to him, but he couldn’t let his curiosity jeopardize the plan.  The plan to bring down Mundt.  And then there was Fiedler himself.  Leamas didn’t know what to feel about the man.  On the one hand, he had a sort of attraction to him; he was beautiful.  But Leamas himself didn’t know whether it was his looks that drew him to Fiedler or if it was his past.  He knew so little about the man, and part of him prayed that it was merely this curiosity that drew his eyes to Fiedler.  

With Liz, he remembered, their romance had just happened.  He hadn’t spared much time thinking about the way she moved and how the wind brushed her hair until he’d been thrown into prison.

But Fiedler was impossible to ignore.  Of course, it didn’t help that Fiedler was actively trying to seduce him to get him to spill his secrets; the way Fiedler lounged in his chair, the way he held Leamas’ gaze with his own, the way he would stretch his legs up on the sofa during their nighttime sessions, those were carefully calculated blows to Leamas’ self-control.

And at the same time, Leamas knew that the man was dangerous.  Fiedler’s hunger was insatiable, and Alec knew that Fiedler hadn’t been lying when he’d said he would strip him of his will.  

 

\---

 

A memory of Fiedler.  One that pulled at the lump at the back of Leamas’ throat.  The event in question had happened before Fiedler had promised to break him, back when he was first learning to fear the German interrogator.

Leamas had been walking down the hallway that led from the rooms to the kitchen, past the bathroom, whose door had been left slightly ajar.  The light was on.  

Leamas’ first instinct was to turn it off, having lived through a period where a single light on in a city spelled certain annihilation, but then he spotted movement through the thin crack.  

It was Fiedler, undressing as carefully as a princess returning from a royal ball.  He was staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, which was next to Leamas but separated by a wall, so Fieder was looking in his direction but not directly at him.  Leamas stared through the door that was slightly ajar, unable to tear himself away.

First off came the jacket, slipping from his bony shoulders like water.  Folding it carefully, Fiedler moved out of Leamas’ line of vision, presumably to hang it up.  He returned, unclipping his suspenders and slipping their straps off his body.  He stared distantly at the mirror, beginning to unbutton his shirt with those long, fine fingers.  Each button sliding from its hole gently.  Leamas felt his face burn.  What he wouldn’t give for someone to unbutton his shirt with so much care.

Fiedler removed the plain white shirt just as delicately as the jacket, once again moving out of Leamas’ line of sight.  When he moved back, Leamas saw Fiedler again.  His bare chest was sickly pale, alive with some sort of bioluminescence that seemed to glow in the dark.  His chest seemed hollow where it wasn’t perfectly flat, and his ribs were too clearly defined to be healthy.  Without suspenders, his trousers were falling down, exposing bony hips.  As Fiedler bent to unbutton the trousers, Leamas’ shifted his weight to take a closer look.  The floor creaked.

Immediately, Fiedler’s head snapped up, searching for the source of the noise, eyes boring straight into Alec’s as he realized who was staring at him undressing from outside the door.  His eyes widened in surprise.

Some small part of Leamas realized and mourned at the fact that Fiedler did not look angry or uncomfortable at all, merely surprised.  It was as if he expected nothing less.   _ What made you like this? _

Fiedler blinked, the first real emotion Leamas had seen already but a memory.  The door shut with a snap, Fiedler’s trousers still falling down pitifully.

Later, Leamas would wonder how much that event had told Fiedler about the inner workings of his mind.

 

\---

 

As Fiedler was away, Leamas decided to explore the interrogator’s room.  Of course he would be shot if he attempted to leave, assuming Fiedler hadn’t been bluffing, but that didn’t mean he had to stay in his room like a child on a time-out.

Leamas was a jack of all trades, and had picked up a wide variety of lockpicking tricks during his years in the service.  However, as he arrived at the door to Fiedler’s room, he was surprised to find that it was unlocked.  

Despite having so many secrets, Fiedler was all too trusting.  Or maybe he just didn’t care.  

The door swung open, revealing a room similar in layout to Leamas’ own.  

Fiedler’s bed lay snugly between the window and his desk.  It was odd.  Fiedler didn’t seem to have any fear for snipers outside of windows like any sensible survivor of the war.  

The desk was mostly empty save for a large stack of paper and a cup full of pens.  No pencils.  A compilation of the complete works of Marx lay open, a pen holding Fiedler’s place in the book.  Leamas glanced at it, careful not to touch anything.  It was extensively annotated.  Next to the desk was a bookcase, completely chock full of books of all sizes.  Leamas noted with interest that the books were in a mix of French, English, Russian and German, mostly academic.  

Leamas turned to face the back wall, and sucked in a sharp breath.  There were countless sketches pinned to the wall, clustered around Fiedler’s wardrobe.  Leamas noticed there were many of a family, a father, mother and child along with a man who looked to have just escaped his teenage years but with the same boyish features as a child (a cousin possibly?), standing outside an ice cream shop, as if the artist had attempted to recreate a photograph but kept messing up and starting over again.

Leamas opened the wardrobe gingerly.  Fiedler’s clothes all looked the same.  

_ Typical bloody communist, _ Alec thought, determined to mock Fiedler at least once.

He made to shut the swinging doors but something stopped him.  There it was: the picture that had been redrawn so many times.  It was a photograph, framed and hanging on the inside of the wardrobe door.  Alec peered closely at who he thought might be the cousin, or perhaps the older brother.  It was Fiedler, but he was smiling, ice cream smeared across his lips making him look like a handsome clown.

_ Was this Fiedler’s family? _

 

\---

 

Fiedler returned a few days later.  Leamas had done nothing much but sulk in the time being, trying to forget the picture and trying to not remember the sound Fiedler’s clothes made against his body whenever he stretched.  He’d registered the sound of the car’s tires on gravel, and sighed, resigning himself to another night’s worth of useless questioning.  Why couldn’t Fiedler just accuse Mundt now?  He’d already revealed all the secrets that would set the plan in motion.

Then he heard a voice floating through the window:  “Oh  _ Jens _ !  Is this really necessary?” A girlish giggle of excitement.   _ No _ .  It couldn’t be.

“Only if you value surprise, darling,” came Fiedler’s voice.  He let out a laugh that sounded almost completely genuine.

The woman’s laugh came again.  “I don’t know how you roped me into this,” she said.  “I know I barely remember her but if only grandma could see us now!”

Fiedler.  He couldn’t have.  He  _ wouldn’t _ have.

“Alright, easy out of the car, Miss Gold.”

Alec was sprinting down the stairs.  “No, no, no, no, no,  _ no! _ ” he muttered.  He wanted to scream.  He wrenched the front door open.

It was Liz.

Her dark hair framed her face, curling around her cheeks which were wide from smiling.  She wore a blindfold.  She was… holding Fiedler’s hand.

Fiedler stood next to her, guiding her way with one of those perfect hands of his.  In the other, he clutched the gun, pointing at Liz, although she didn’t see it.  He smiled triumphantly at Leamas, indicating the pistol.  

The message was clear.   _ Say anything, and she dies. _

The edges of Leamas’ vision were blurring.  God, did Fiedler have  _ no heart _ ?

“Ooh Jens,” Liz said, excitedly, “I think I’m going to fall.”

Fiedler leaned in closer to her and brushed her cheek with his lips, smiling, for all intents and purposes, contentedly, seeming very much in love but for the gleaming pistol.  “Just a bit further darling,” he said, “we’re almost at the house, where I have a big surprise for you.”

The driver followed them in, carrying boxes, flowers and chocolates, evidently ‘the surprise’.

The three people passed Leamas through the entrance hall and to the kitchen.  He stood there in shock.  From the other room he heard Fiedler kiss Liz again and say in a low voice, “Hold on a moment, darling, I’ll be right back.  Ulbricht will take care of you.”

Fiedler backed out of the kitchen and shut the door to the sound of Liz’s giggles as Ulbricht began telling her jokes.  He turned, presumably to get something from his room.

Leamas slammed him against the hallway wall, the old wood of the floor creaking as he leaned all his weight into Fiedler’s shoulders.  “Why did you do it?” Leamas hissed, “I told you Fiedler,  _ I told you _ , if you bring her into this I’ll dry up, and now you’ve  _ fucking _ pulled her into this-”

Fiedler’s face remained impassive, like he’d been expecting a reaction like this.  He smiled.  “Oh, but Mister Leamas,” he said, voice silky, “We both know that you _won’t_ dry up now, don’t we?  After all, could you stomach what would happen to Liz if you didn’t?”  
There was a thick lump at the back of Leamas’ throat and his vision was blurring.  “You wouldn’t fucking _dare_ you filthy-”

“You know she has very beautiful eyes.  Young and new to the world.   _ So much to see _ .”

Leamas choked out a dry sob.  Fiedler didn’t stop.

“And her hands, such lovely things.  Perfect nails.  I hope she doesn’t cut them- they feel so alive on your back as you make love,” Fiedler said.  He said it so wistfully, so lovingly, and yet so obviously insincerely, Leamas entire body felt like ice.

_ Don’t torture her- please- I’ll do anything- _ was all Alec could think.  But he remembered the plan. The plan.

Leamas shoved Fiedler away, removing the pressure that had pinned the German to the wall.  The weight of his own tears were too much, and they began sliding from his eyes.

Half of him wanted to curl up, to hide from the monster in front of him.  Except that monster wasn’t the right word.  Monster implied that the beast in question had no control over its actions.  But Fiedler,  he was a different breed altogether.  He basked in control, in careful planning and manipulation.

Fiedler looked at him pitilessly.  “If I call for Ulbricht, he’ll shoot her.  Now go to bed.  We will resume our sessions tomorrow,” he paused, enjoying the moment, “with Liz.”

“How did you get her to come?” Leamas asked in a hollow voice.  Defeated.

Fiedler shrugged.  “It was not too hard.  We had people following her.  I went up to her, and told her our grandparents had known each other- I had a picture of her left to me in my father’s will and I recognized her.  

"We do background checks you see, and so I knew.  I knew her family history, I knew how to act.  She believes she is… connected to me- not by blood of course, but a connection is all I needed to work with.  The rest was simple seduction, the kind I am sure you are familiar with.”

Leamas was shaking with silent sobs.  How had this happened?  “Go to hell,” he said, in that same hollow voice.

 

\---

 

It truly was worse than torture, although Leamas knew the worst was yet to come.  He had heard from the kitchen how Fiedler had taken off Liz’ blindfold, her joy at the lovely gifts, the clinking of glasses, the door shut as Ulbricht left the house.  Then had come the laughs and kisses, the giggles, the joy, that flowed genuinely from Liz’ lips but sounded false as they passed Fiedler’s.

From the next room he heard the rhythmic creaks of Fiedler’s bed springs as he and Liz made love.  Leamas imagined that Fiedler’s eyes would retain the same coldness, dispassion, that he had while interrogating him, teasing little secrets from Liz’ mouth as he caressed her gently with his beautiful hands.

And Alec knew that the worst was yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh   
> fiedler: you know what would make alec cry  
> me: don't  
> fiedler: if i threatened to torture his girlfriend and then did the kiss kiss bang bang with her  
> me: DONT
> 
> "love is a tool that serves to prevent counter-revolution" -Fiedler at some point


	6. Mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth Gold is nothing more than Fiedler's puppet. Slowly, Alec feels Fiedler's strings ensnare him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh fiedler was amazing to write in this chapter I'll be honest

Leamas woke up, unsure of whether he had really been asleep.  The dried salt of his tears had crystallized, sealing his eyes shut.  Today would be a stumble forward, he told himself.  Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought it would be.  But in his heart of hearts Leamas knew he would not be prepared for what was to come.

He sat up, harsh light starkly illuminating the room.  There was a note on the dresser.  The first thing Leamas registered was its neat lettering.  

 

_ We are downstairs.  Join us for breakfast. _

_ \- Jens _

 

Leamas wanted to tear the note to shreds.  Everything about it made him want to scream- the “we”, the “us”.  Fiedler and Liz.  Did Liz know?  Did Liz know that he was here?  Did she know that as she lay next to Fiedler last night, bodies tangling in the sheets that his heart was slowly drying up in the other room?

Fiedler must have known.

Leamas stared at the note.   _ ‘Jens’ _ .  Fiedler was mocking him, and suddenly all Leamas’ sorrow and pain turned to anger.  Not only was he seducing Liz, but he was still trying to do the same to him.  And it was goddamn  _ working _ .

The night before, he had been tormented by not only by the beautiful noises teased from Liz’s mouth, but Leamas had also been haunted by the image of Fiedler, undressed, lying next to Liz, smiling and running his hands down her face.   _ It could have been me _ , Leamas thought.  He had been unable to stop thinking about it.

He stumbled down the stairs like a drunk man.  He was nearly spent.  He didn’t have enough emotion to spare anymore, what with worrying about Liz and Fiedler, the memories of Riemeck and his agents, Control and Smiley and the plan.  

Fiedler knew he was that close to breaking.  He knew that it would not take much more to send Leamas over the edge.  And then everything would be his.  And then everything would be for nothing.

God, he needed a drink.  Leamas stumbled to the living room.  That was surely where Liz and Fiedler would be, having breakfast around the little coffee table where he and Fiedler had sat talking for hours upon end.  Leamas had managed to mostly avoid imagining how this confrontation would play out.  The door swung open on well oiled hinges.

Light shone into the living room from the windows and screen door looking out onto the garden, burnishing the plants pale gold.  The living room itself was empty, but the screen door was ajar.  They must be having breakfast outside.

As Leamas approached the screen door, he heard voices, soft and low, like a mother whispering to her child.

He pushed the screen door open.  The garden was lovely.  The plants were nice and overgrown, a bright young green dotted with sparkles of colour where small flowers peeped out of their allotments, making it look like a fairy garden.  Gravel crunched satisfyingly underfoot as Leamas stepped into the fresh air that had that particular morning freshness but with the gentle warmth of the sun on his skin.

There were three chairs sitting around a round outdoor coffee-table table piled high with bread and sausages, intricately crafted from twisting metal shaped into leaves and flowers.  All of them had armrests, were low, cushioned, and relatively large.

Liz was there.

She was leaning on Fiedler’s chest with her eyes closed, listening to the soft  _ fla-thum _ of Fiedler’s heartbeat.  The sun shone over Fiedler’s shoulder where he cradled her head in his arm, shining through the cloud of her fine hair that floated in the wind.  She wore a pale white nightgown that blew faintly in the breeze.  She looked like a sleeping angel with her gown fluttering gracefully around her and that halo of gold, Leamas thought.  

And then there was Fiedler, who she was leaning on, her head cradled by his shoulder as she sat in his lap, hands trailing over his knees.  His fingers caressed her cheek, his head bent over hers, whispering sweet nothings, sweet lies and promises into her ear.  Fiedler too was wearing a nightgown, the sleeves baggy about his slim wrists.  He had taken a shower, and his soaking hair was just beginning to curl around his ears in rats-tails.  Water had dripped down from his hair and soaked the top of his nightgown, rendering it translucent.  It stuck to his pale, thin, flat chest making it impossible to ignore the soothing rise and fall of his chest.  He was beautiful.

Fiedler seemed to register that Leamas had entered the scene.  He kissed Liz on the ear, continuing to soothe her with his fingernails sketching swirling patterns on her cheeks.  She giggled and whispered something.  Probably “it tickles”.

Fiedler looked up, a faint smile of amusement on his lips.  God, he knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing, and Leamas  _ knew _ that this was all just an act to get him to talk, and he was falling for it  _ anyway- _

“Good morning Alec,” Fiedler said in a quiet voice.

Liz gasped, jolting upright.  Her eyes shot open and she saw Leamas.  “Oh- Alec!  Oh my God-  _ Alec _ !”  She practically fell off Fiedler’s lap in an attempt to get up.  She rushed forward on bare feet and was about to throw herself into Leamas’ arms when she stopped.  She glanced back at Fiedler, who was still lounging in the chair.  She turned back to Leamas and caught the look in his eyes.  She thought she saw something different there.  Fractured maybe.

Liz Gold burst into tears.  She stumbled forward and Leamas caught her.  Liz sobbed hard against his chest.  “Oh God Alec- I’m such an idiot, I always mess things up- Oh Alec I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-” She started crying in earnest, and Leamas did his best to cover her whole body with his- to hide her from Fiedler in his hug.  

She let out a low wail and suddenly Fiedler was also by her side.  Leamas let her be pulled away from his arms and into Fiedler’s, whose eyes were burning with a hungry fire.  What could Leamas have done?  Fought Fiedler?  Of course not.  Fiedler was twelve steps ahead of him and had accounted for everything.  He knew how Leamas would want to react.  He knew how Leamas  _ would _ react.  And so Alec did nothing.  He let his love fall into Fiedler’s hands. 

Fiedler acted the perfect gentleman.  His hands held Liz by the shoulders as he let his forehead lean against hers.  “What’s wrong darling?  What’s wrong?  Have I done something?  Is it  _ my _ fault?  Can I help?” he asked her, his voice a perfect mimicry of worry.

Liz’s sobs grew louder.  “Jens- Jens no- It’s none of it’s your fault-” Leamas had sensed the trap in Fiedler’s words.  He knew that Fiedler’s consoling words were meant to manipulate her into thinking- into believing-  _ It’s all my fault. _

“Please- Darling- just tell me what-”

Liz let out a loud wail and fled, trampling through the garden, leaving only sobs and squashed flowers in her wake.  

As soon as she was out of sight, Fiedler turned to Leamas.  

He laughed, mask of worry melting away as if it had never existed.  “So easy to break, that one,” he said slowly, enjoying the effect his words were having on Alec.  “All it took was a single night.”  Fiedler’s eyes were cold, his lips drawn into a dangerous smile.

Leamas was frozen stiff with an all-consuming rage.  Half of him wanted to run after Liz- the other half wanted to break every bone in the interrogator’s body, slowly.  “Why are you doing this to her Fiedler?  You’re trying to get at me, I know that, but what fucking information could you possibly be getting from me at this point?” he demanded with gritted teeth, his voice growing louder with every word.

“The information you’ve provided is too useful.  Too specific,” Fiedler said dryly.  “Now  _ why _ might that be, Mister Leamas?” Fiedler’s eyes were ice cold as he paced around Leamas, who was still rooted to the spot.  “All the information on Rolling Stone has been of some use to me- there was not a single bit of unnecessary information.  I needed to know more about you to be sure- sure that you were hiding something.”

Leamas was silent.

“That day I asked you about your wife-”

“Ex-wife,” Leamas said, words wrenched from his mouth by an uncontrollable surge of emotion.

Fiedler chuckled.  “Exactly.  From the moment you lashed out at me for mentioning her, I learned many things, one of which was that you are too emotionally attached.”  Fiedler had circled behind him like a wolf, his voice growing lower, quieter as he drew closer.  His breath was hot on the back of Leamas’ neck.

Leamas bit his lip, now trying to hold back tears.  Fiedler was maneuvering him into the same spot as he had Liz only minutes ago.

“You left me with no choice but to bring Miss Gold here, your one love, your emotional attachment, your  _ weakness _ , merely because you were not being completely honest with me,” Fiedler said.

It was all his fault.  

It didn’t matter that Fiedler was manipulating him into thinking it, because it was true.  Liz was only here because he had been dishonest with Fiedler.  He’d been the one to give her away.  

He was responsible for her misery.  

He tried in vain to call up Control’s voice, to persuade himself that it was all for the sake of the plan.  It failed.  He tried to convince himself that Fiedler was lying- somehow he was manipulating the situation and nothing was true.  That failed too.  

Because Fiedler wasn’t lying.  Leamas  _ had _ lashed out in emotion.  Leamas  _ had _ hidden information from the interrogator.  It  _ was _ his fault.

There were tears spilling down his face now- Leamas just wanted everything to stop- for the pain to end.  God, could Fiedler really do this to a man with just words?

_ Intelligent.  Patient.  Their best interrogator. _  Control’s words.   _ Control _ .  Shit, he had to keep to the plan at all costs-

“I don’t know what you’re fucking saying Fiedler.  I’ve told you everything I know-”

_ Smack! _

“Liar!” came the hiss.

Leamas stumbled backwards, clutching his stinging face.  The small pain was nothing however, compared to the enormous shock at the fact that Fiedler had just slapped him.

Annoyance flared in Fiedler’s eyes, and he wore bared snarl on his lips, but both were instantly replaced by surprise.  He stared down at his own pale hand, already reddening from the slap, in mild horror… as if his own body had betrayed him.

Fiedler had lost control.

The look was gone as soon as it had come, leaving no trace of any emotions whatsoever.  He forced a cocky smile on his face- more clearly false than usual.  “Now, Mister Leamas,” he said, voice returning to it’s silky melody, “We both know that you are lying.  Must I go back to Miss Gold?  Must I press her tight against me, reassure her everything will ‘be alright’?”

“She loves  _ me _ Fiedler, understand?”  Seeing Fiedler’s slip up had given Leamas hope.  Fiedler was not unbeatable- there must be a way out of this situation.

“You would rather I strap her to the bed and bleed her out?  It would give me just as much pleasure, I assure you,” Fiedler countered with a hungry false-smile.

“I told you I’d dry up, Fiedler.” Some force, some resistance inside of him was making him say these things, although he could not stand the thought of Liz in either position.  His voice shook.  “I told you and Peters, but you didn’t listen.”  Leamas stormed off.

He heard Fiedler laugh derisively at him as the interrogator stalked through the flowerbeds to find Liz.  

“Oh, Mister Leamas,” Fiedler said to himself, watching Leamas disappear into the house, “You’re already broken.  You just don’t know it yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love nightgowns and manipulation of other characters' feelings
> 
> HIGH-KEY THE LAST PART WAS MCFREAKING SO FUN TO WRITE IM INTERNALLY CACKLING


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In my experience, it’s best to tell the truth.”

 

Leamas lay on his bed.  He felt bizarrely confident in his decision not to reveal anything about the plan but remained worried for Liz.  

Why had he done it?  

The less Liz knew, the better for her and for the plan, but that might not stop Fiedler taking a knife to her.  Alec could imagine with all too much clarity how easily Fiedler’s soft caresses could become lines of blood as he cut her open, his hands just as graceful when sliding a knife through her ribs as they were when making love. 

He heard people walking under his window.  Leamas fought to keep himself from sitting up and shouting at Liz to run away from Fiedler, for it was their two voices out there.  He screwed his eyes shut, listening in to their conversation, praying fervently that Liz wouldn’t let anything slip.

“Please, Liz, what’s wrong?  Do you know Alec?  Please, darling, I can't help you if I don't know…” Fiedler’s voice had resumed its caring quality that Leamas knew was all an act.  He didn't want to hear Fiedler win Liz back.  He couldn't.  He wanted to run to Liz, to tell her everything, to convince her not to say anything more.

But he knew what had happened to Riemeck- he had told his lover almost everything, and it had all ended in his body broken over a bike slowly rusting with blood.  

The more Liz knew, the more Fiedler would prey on her with his beautiful lips, his careful hands, his tender words and his hungry eyes.

And so Leamas could not move. 

He heard Liz sob, likely into Fiedler’s shoulder, then, “I knew Alec,” she said, “it was months ago, and we were in love, Jens,  _ love!   _ What happened last night- it was all a mistake.  Please forgive me for misleading you like this,” she choked out.  “It’s just all my fault- all my-” her words melted into nothingness.

_ Oh Liz _ , Leamas thought,  _ you're not the one doing the misleading.  You never were _ .

“Liz, don't worry, please, all I want is for you to be happy,” Fiedler said.  Leamas heard him patting her on the back.  “It’s all going to be alright.”  Leamas noticed that he hadn’t contradicted her-  he hadn’t said that it wasn’t her fault.  She was falling into his trap.

“How can be so kind, Jens?” she mumbled.  Leamas had to strain to hear her, his stomach growing colder at every word.   Fiedler was tying her to himself with his words . 

Fiedler sighed.  Leamas wondered if he was stroking her hair, pressing her head against his chest, drawing her ever closer to himself, unwilling to let her escape his influence.  “I’ve been talking to Leamas these past weeks.  In all our conversations, I sometimes see he’s thinking about someone special.  I find him sitting in the garden looking at the sky for hours, smiling and thinking of someone far away, or we’ll be sitting at dinner and he’ll be looking behind me as we talk, like he’s talking to someone else.  I think that it must be you, Liz.  If he had just  _ told _ me what he was thinking, I wouldn't have… uh…” Fiedler’s voice trailed off in embarrassment.

Liz gave a shaky laugh.  “It’s alright Jens, you can’t be blamed for not knowing.  And it’s sweet that he thought of me.  I thought of him too: every night for months.”

Fiedler sighed.  “Do you think you could tell me about him someday?  I just can’t imagine how you met.  Surely not at a Party meeting-”

Liz laughed.  In his room, a tear rolled down Leamas’ face.

“Of course, but not now.  I need to figure out how to talk to Alec- I feel absolutely horrible about this whole mess.”

“In my experience, it’s best to tell the truth.” Fiedler’s voice again.

 

 

Fiedler left, leaving Liz standing outside Leamas’ window.  As soon as Leamas was sure the German was out of earshot he lurched to his feet and leaned out the window, steadying himself with a hand.  He couldn’t let Fiedler do this.  Not to Liz.

“Liz!  Liz!” he whispered as loudly as he could.  His window was only about ten feet above her head.  

She looked up, confused.  “Alec?” she asked.  He held a finger to his lips.  She shot him a confused stare.  Leamas made a motion with his hands, that seemed to say, “stay there”, then he dashed from the window.  

A moment later, he returned, clutching a piece of paper.  He leaned out of the window dropping the paper.  It fluttered to the grass like a feather.  

A little apprehensively, she picked it up.  It read:

 

_ Can’t talk now, it’s not safe.  Meet me in my room tonight.  Fiedler won’t get suspicious.  Destroy this note. _

 

\---

 

It was mid-afternoon and Fiedler was making dinner after spending several hours in his room absentmindedly annotating a new book he’d bought in Berlin, an anthology of poetry about the ancient Greek gods.  

Solyanka, he had decided, skimming through his mental list of recipes.  The Russian soup wouldn’t take too much effort to make.  

He looked under the counter to take stock of their ingredients, rubbing his chin with a finger.  Let’s see, they had two cans of tomato paste, one can of diced tomatoes, about fifty small capers floating in three inches of pickling liquid, some handpicked mushrooms that he’d brought back with him from Berlin after having to wait for two hours for them, a jar full of green olives, three onions, and a single, lonely cucumber.  There were also three loaves of bread, two of them in the freezer, a packet of breakfast sausages in the fridge, and a bag of his handmade granola.  Alright so there wasn’t a lot of food, but it would be more than sufficient.  Fiedler had stretched food much thinner than this before.

He began slicing an onion, careful to use a sharp knife to avoid the unfortunate reaction of crying.  The kitchen counter was just in front of a window, allowing Fiedler to gaze out at the grounds as he worked.  He allowed his mind to drift for a few minutes, settling and then gliding from memory to memory like a butterfly.  Inevitably, his mind drifted to Leamas in the garden.  

Fiedler wasn’t exactly sure what had happened outside among the flowers.  His right hand still buzzed from where he had slapped the defector.  Fiedler clenched his teeth slightly.  How could he have been so careless and slipped up in front of Leamas?  He knew the key to the peculiar case of Hans-Dieter Mundt lay somewhere in Leamas’ memories, but in order to gain access to those memories, Leamas had to be completely and utterly open to him- he had to be broken.

Fiedler bent down and pulled out a crock pot, into which he emptied the onions.  Then he grabbed the lonely looking cucumber from where he’d lain it out beside him and began slicing it rhythmically.   _ Slice _ .  Why had he lost control in the first place?   _ Slice _ .  Fiedler did place great value on honesty- he had not lied to Leamas once during his stay, nor had he lied more than was necessary to Elizabeth Gold- just one or two falsehoods to get him to buy the story that their grandparents had known each other.  Fiedler expected the same level of honesty in return, and maybe this time Leamas had outright lied rather than feeding him the half-truths Fiedler was sure Leamas was stringing him along on.   _ Slice _ .

Leamas.  Leamas.  He was a remarkably hard man to untangle.

Seduction would have been the easiest method, but Fiedler hadn’t counted on such a violent reaction at the mention of Leamas’ ex-wife.  But that reaction had revealed countless facets of Alec Leamas that Fiedler could only dream of uncovering individually.  His weakness was love, as it was with everyone, but now Fiedler knew that Leamas was more sensitive than most.  He was strong- the blow had hurt.  But, and this was what Fiedler found especially interesting, he had held back.  He had not attempted to struggle when Fiedler had pushed him to the ground.  And that, that indicated that Leamas was not the impulsive emotional wreck that Peters had made him out to be.  Very interesting indeed.  

And there had been something else, hadn’t there?  A look in Leamas’ eyes as he had looked at Fiedler.  As if he’d also seen some trace of attraction in Fiedler’s own eyes.  But that couldn’t be true.  As a rule, he didn’t fall in love.  It was just a thing that happened to some people that made life complicated.  He didn’t have time for love.

But that just led him back to Leamas’s lie.  He would never have slapped a subject unless he’d have wanted to- and slapping Leamas was not the plan.  The plan had been to break Liz, then used her to break Leamas.  

“If you break Liz Gold, you break Alec Leamas,” he whispered to himself, now prying open the lid of the tinned tomatoes.

Leamas.  Alec Leamas.  What a nice first name.  It could come from anywhere.

Absentmindedly, Fiedler remembered how terrified Alec had looked as he had first bent to kiss him.  _  Fear is power, fear is the weapon, the arm of the party _ .  The words bounced around his head.  

Leamas was large, intellectually and physically.  What Fiedler wouldn’t give to sift through all those memories, learn exactly how he had come to be the way he was.  He could tell that this unnerved Leamas, the knowledge that he was just some puzzle for Fiedler to rearrange until each piece fit.  

Lately, Fiedler had come to accept certain things about Leamas.  The way his hands moved, for example, or the way he walked.  Even the way his wiry hair stuck up at the back because Leamas never checked in the mirror.  They all amused Fiedler, although he never showed it.  

What was love anyway?  The can lid slipped in Fiedler’s hand, it’s sharp edge biting into his fingertips.

“Scheisse,” he muttered quietly.  Stay in control, he chided himself.  He sucked on the two fingers that were bleeding, just as his parents had taught him to do, as he poured the contents of the can into the crock pot.  His fingers stung.

One handed, Fiedler attempted to cut the sausages, picking up the pieces and adding them to the pot one by one.

Then he took his fingers out of his mouth to put the pot in the oven.  He glanced at his old watch.  “Let cook for four hours,” he muttered, citing the old cookbook he’d been forced to pawn off in Canada.

He glanced outside the window.  The sun was just low enough so that the whole world shone with a regretful glow as if the world were dying.  He wished it would rain.

Quietly, Fiedler went up to the rooms.  His bedroom was just past Leamas’, separated by the bathroom.  He remembered glancing Leamas’ eyes through the open door as he was getting ready to take a shower.  Those wide eyes had been full of wonder and love, Fiedler supposed.  Vaguely he had wondered how long the other man had been staring at him.  He didn’t mind too much of course- he hadn’t been able to afford the luxury of privacy or complete ownership of his body for a long time.  It had ceased to bother him.  

But that look.  How telling that had been.  With that look, Fiedler had stolen another secret- Alec Leamas would slowly fall in love with him if he made it easy enough.

 

\---

 

He found Liz sitting in the garden again.  It was real sunset now, and she sat at the low table, picking flowers dejectedly.

“May I join you?” Fiedler asked.  He knew she wouldn’t say no- couldn’t say no, but it was important for her to maintain the illusion of control. 

She nodded.

“So,” he said.  “Tell me about how you joined the Party-  I’ve never met a British Communist before.”  He paused, looking out at the sunset.   “The soup will still be another hour,” he added vaguely.

Liz looked at him.  She seemed nervous for some reason.  “I mean, it just happens, doesn’t it?”  

Fiedler noted the shift in posture, shoulders caved in, arms half-crossed.  She was defensive- why?

“There’s always a good story,” he trailed off, “My first meeting was in a basement in Canada, you know.  People there were wonderful.”

She felt that she needed to provide information in return because that was how he’d conditioned her to react.  “Really?  I didn’t know you’d been to Canada.”  She laughed and leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “My father took me to one of the meetings.  He was trying to show me how silly an idea communism was, but all the ideas made sense, so when I was sixteen, I started going to the meetings in secret.”

Fiedler burst into a wide smile.  “Such excitement- Did your father ever find out?”

She laughed.  “He probably guessed, but by then I had moved out and had just started working at the library.”

Fiedler’s eyes lit up.  “How big was this library, exactly?” he asked, playing the role of the awestruck friend perfectly.

“Well it’s nothing enormous- not like those big university libraries you get in France or anything, but it has just enough books for there to be a whole day’s work in arranging them, although it did get easier when Alec-” she paused.

Fiedler let the silence stretch.  She would need to fill it.  People were compelled to fill it.

“That’s actually where I met Alec- the library,” she finished quietly.

She was drying up.  Her secrets were rapidly passing beyond Fiedler’s reach, and he didn’t know why, but his suspicions were slowly growing.

“Fascinating,” he said.  “What I wouldn’t give to have met you in a library.  How did you get along?  I’ve tried talking to Alec about communism, but he still doesn’t seem to understand how right it is.”  He was being dangerously truthful.  Not enough of his statements could be construed differently, but it was a sacrifice Fiedler had to make, to keep Liz’s secrets open to him.   _ Focus on your similarities.  Draw her in by talking about what you both know;  She’ll have no qualms telling you what you should  _ already _ know, _ he thought to himself.  And in this case, their similarity was communism.

“Me too.  He just seems so tired of the whole world, I’ve almost given up the belief that he really cares about ideology.”

Fiedler nodded.  “Yes, I got that too.  But don’t you think, maybe, that there’s something there?”

Liz laughed, forgetting her evasiveness.  “Of course,” she said.  “That’s what I love about him.”  Fiedler gave her a puzzled look and she elaborated.  “He is so cynical about the world, and yet somehow, he still carries on going, like he has a little engine and someone’s feeding it coal.”

Fiedler genuinely smiled.   _ Philosophy _ .  He and Elizabeth Gold were much more alike than he’d hoped.  He leaned forward.  “Exactly what I noticed,” he said.  “He doesn’t seem compelled by western imperialism, and yet he refuses to be swayed by communism.  What a man,” Fiedler said, shaking his head.  “I just can’t figure out how you two could’ve gotten on so well.”

Liz shrugged.  “He was alone,” she said.  “And I don’t think he wanted any friends either, but he got sick and I thought he had no one so I just…” she trailed off.  Why was she withholding information?  Fiedler could have sworn he had broken her in their Berlin hotel room and then cemented his hold over her last night.  Breaking in this case meant that she would be loyal, always thinking of him and his needs as she thought about her own- his presence would stalk through her mind, making her wonder,  _ what would Fiedler do? _

Such was the power of misguided love.

“You  _ thought _ he had no one?” Fiedler latched onto her words.  This was new- but he had to be careful otherwise she would certainly catch on to his less than benevolent intents.

She said nothing, staring at him with those eyes, eyes that knew something he didn’t, and then Fiedler sighed.  

_ My, my, _ he thought, Leamas was being as unpredictable as ever.

The defector had warned Liz about him, Fiedler supposed, but he needed more proof.  How unfortunate for the poor Englishman if it turned out to be true.  It was an obstruction of Fiedler’s work, after all.

All Liz needed was a small push- a reason,  _ any _ reason to give Fiedler what he wanted.  Fiedler rubbed his chin morosely.  “You know why he’s in East Germany?” he asked.  He was going to pull back her confidence and make her trust him completely.

She shook her head, leaning forward again.  Good.  He had her attention.

“He was running from someone.”  That was no lie.  The Circus was after him.  “He needed somewhere safe.  That’s why we’re here, Liz- to help him,” he said with passion.   He was unsure of how much he was really acting .  Then he went in for the killing strike- one that, if said correctly, would crush Liz’ newfound confidence, if it did not further divide them.  “I’m just sorry that you can’t see that,” he said, head dipping as if he’d given up.

It worked.  Out of the corner of his eye, Fiedler saw Liz’ resistance cave in.  Whatever Leamas had said, it had not been enough.  For now at least, while Leamas’ safety was her priority rather than avoiding Fiedler’s interrogation, Liz was his.

Her eyes seemed to light up with recognition.  “Running from someone?” she repeated, as if in a daze.

Fiedler continued to appear concerned, even going so far as to bite his lower lip.  “Please, Liz- if you know anything- you could  _ help _ him.”

“There were two men that came around, a  few weeks after Alec was… you know.  One was tall, the other was short.  They seemed nice enough, but they asked questions about Alec, and it felt odd.”  She frowned.  “They said they were his friends,” she added.

Fiedler nodded, silently indicating for her to go on.

“They said they wanted to help- they offered to pay rent and everything.  But they wanted to know where Alec had gone, so of course I said nothing because they just seemed so insincere.”

Fiedler restrained a smile.  How ironic, that he was teasing the secrets from her lips in the same way the strangers had tried.  But of course, he was the best.  He chose to frown in concentration instead.  “Were they British?” he asked, “They could have been imperialist agents who were actually targeting you for your ideology.”  It was a move to get her to contradict him by proposing an unlikely scenario, and in rejecting the scenario she would reveal more information.

Liz shook her head.  “They were British yes, but they only wanted to know about Alec, not me.  The short man, Smiley I think his name was-”

Fiedler froze for a fraction of a second.  So it was Smiley.  That raised too many questions that he couldn’t deal with in the middle of an interrogation.  He hid his surprise, pretending that the revelation didn’t matter as much as it did.

Liz continued, unaware of the extent to which Fiedler now hung on her words.  “Well, he wanted to know if Alec had told me where he was going or if he’d said anything important.”

Fiedler stuck his tongue out to the side, as if he were a painter deep in thought.  “Mmn,” he hummed, “That’s-”

Something made a noise inside the house and Fiedler turned, hand drifting down to his concealed gun.  Then- “Fiedler is this goddamn Solyanka?” It was Leamas, calling from the kitchen.  

Both he and Liz stood as Leamas pushed the screen door open.  “I think it’s done,” the Englishman said, scratching his head, ruffling his hair.

Apart from noting that Leamas was making an effort to seem casual, Fiedler couldn’t help but notice how the soft breeze fluttered Leamas’ collar and how the dying light seemed to shine through Leamas’ eyes, giving them a celestial glow.  The air seemed to tangle in Leamas’ hair, making it seem more wild and unpredictable, similar to the man himself.  He carried himself with confidence, arrogance even, as if he didn’t care what lay ahead, but Fiedler had seen how cautious Leamas was- always aware of the exits, was always alert, sometimes only  _ seeming _ to answer Fiedler’s questions.

He was a paradox.  Fiedler found him both intellectually fascinating and stimulating.  And he looked-

Fiedler blinked and the moment vanished.  He hoped it hadn’t been what he’d thought it was.  He hoped that it hadn’t been what had caused him to lose control.

“Fiedler, your soup looks in horrible shape,” Leamas said, insulting him in front of Liz while maintaining the facade of friendly banter.  

“Better than you then,” he said, brushing ever so slightly against Leamas on his way inside.  Liz laughed.

 

Fiedler sat his two guests down for dinner a the dining table only a few minutes later.  The sun had completely set, and they felt alone in the world, the darkness pressing up against the windows even as the electrical lights kept it at bay. 

As he carried the steaming bowls of soup over to the table, he dearly hoped Leamas wouldn’t notice that he hadn’t added any sour cream.  That sort of thing wasn’t easy to come by.

Leamas looked down at his bowl, eyeing the dark soup distastefully.  He cocked an eyebrow sarcastically.  “What- no sour cream?  You’re a shitty communist, Fiedler,” he called as Fiedler went back to get their glasses of water.  Fiedler’s back was to Leamas, so the older man didn’t see him blush almost imperceptibly.  

_ Control yourself _ .  What was wrong with him?

Fiedler glanced back.  Liz and Alec were sharing a look.  He sighed.  This confirmed that Leamas had told Liz something.  Suddenly, as if he knew he were being watched from across the kitchen, Leamas looked up, staring Fiedler dead in the eyes.

Fiedler noticed something in those eyes that he hadn’t seen before.  Fear.  Wait, that wasn’t right.  He  _ had _ seen fear before, enjoyed it even, so what was making him feel differently about it this time?  For he  _ did _ feel different.

He walked slowly back to the table and put down the water glasses.  Then he walked out, to the bathroom.  He knew it was foolish to leave Leamas and Liz together, but he couldn’t risk losing control again.

He pushed the bathroom door open gently, resisting the urge to rush in and curl up in the bathtub; he was so angry with himself.

Fiedler was staring at himself in the mirror.  He looked strange, as if someone had blurred the outlines of his body.  Fiedler blinked a few times.  Were these actual tears?  He must be sick.  That would explain the tears and the loss of control and all these strange emotions.  He bent over the sink, staring closer at his own face.  

What had Alec seen in it?

Stop it.  Stop thinking about Alec- Leamas- the defector- the subject.  He kept correcting himself, a reflex reaction.  His subjects weren’t real people.  He couldn’t form any real bonds with people who weren’t real.

He didn’t want to fall in love with Alec Leamas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH
> 
> fielder's food is delicious ok


	8. "Love"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ist das ein Traum?” Is this a dream?

Liz slipped quietly into Alec’s room a few hours later.  She had a legitimate reason for being there too, in case Fiedler caught them.  She wanted to be with Leamas because she loved him.

Liz Gold however, was also there at Leamas’ request, for something a little different.

As Alec closed the door silently behind her, she turned, saying, “Alright I got your note and I don't believe half of it.  Fiedler  _ can't  _ be untrustworthy- he just can't.  We both just want to  _ help _ you Alec- can't you understand that?”

“That's what he wants you to believe.  Tell me what he said.  Tell me  _ everything _ that you've told each other.”

She did, Leamas face growing darker with every word.  “I don't understand,” she said, “he said it was to help you and I barely told him anything!”

“Keep your voice down,” Leamas hissed, eyes gravitating towards the door.  “And yes, he might technically be fitting the description of trying to protect me, I assure that the more he finds out about you, the more I am in danger.”

“Alec I don't understand…” Her voice help a heavy plea.

He shook her gently by the shoulders, whispering urgently, “Don’t you get it?  I can't tell you anything because that’s more information for Fiedler to get out of you.”

Liz made as if to ask another question but then she seemed to steel herself.  “Alright Alec,” she said determinedly.

She continued describing her and Fiedler’s conversations until she got to her encounter with “George Smiley”.

Then all of a sudden, Leamas’ face went completely blank.

“Alec?  Alec what's wrong?” she asked, terrified.  The lights were off but the moon glimmering through the window cut across Alec’s face, painting with a sharp pallor. 

“You told Fiedler it was Smiley?”  Alec's voice sounded like chalk dust.

Liz nodded, tears filling her eyes.  “I wasn't supposed to say that, was I?” she choked into Leamas’ shoulder.

Leamas patted her on the back.  “No, Liz, you weren't.  I'm sorry I can’t explain this to you properly, but none of this is your fault, no matter how much Fiedler implies it.  You couldn't have known who Smiley was, and I couldn't have told you not to tell Fiedler about him, because even I didn't know that he visited you… or why.”  Leamas murmured these words into Liz’ long dark hair.  She still smelled like the baking bread he had come to fall in love with during their time at the library.

He needed to think.  He needed to think of what to tell Fiedler.

He was terribly cold and terribly afraid.

“Liz?” he asked uncertainly.

She hummed back in acknowledgement, finally feeling safe in his embrace.

“I'm afraid.”

“Maybe if we kiss, we can forget.”

Leamas chuckled.  “I love you.”

 

\---

 

It was past midnight.

The moon was low in the sky, making the pale beams into a dark sunset so that when Fiedler gently picked the lock and nudged the door open, moonlight cut across his face, illuminating the bottom half but leaving Fiedler’s eyes in shadow.

Fiedler glanced around.  He was in here for answers.  Clues.  Leamas’ room was bathed in dark light.  It shone through the paper thin petals of the chamomile plants in Leamas’ vase.  Fiedler blinked.  He didn’t know Leamas actually kept flowers, especially not the small little chamomile blooms that Fiedler so often left around the house.

_ Smiley _ , he thought, pulling his concentration back to his main objective.  What was Smiley’s role in all of this?  Was he really there to track down Leamas?  Fiedler doubted it.  The Circus would have sent someone less conspicuous if they were really trying to find a man.

Had it been a personal visit then?  Had Smiley, one of the Circus’ greatest officers really given into such petty emotions and wanted to contact his old friend?

Maybe there was a third option, but any thought of it quickly left Fielder's head as he approached Leamas’ bed and desk.

It was odd to see Leamas so relaxed and defenceless.  He was lying under Liz’s thin frame, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed.  An arm stretched above his head and over the side of the bed.  

Liz lay sprawled on top of Leamas, her arms indicating that before the two had fallen asleep, she had been pinning Alec to the bed.  Her head was nestled next to Leamas’ neck protectively.  She sucked in a slow breath, then rolled off him, the noise startling Fiedler.  

Liz’ hair spread over Leamas’ chest.  Fiedler noted that in the defector’s old files he had always been large and muscular, but the months away from the Circus had stripped him of some of that.  He watched Leamas breathe.

It was… strangely calming, Fiedler thought.  His eyes followed the pathway of breath, up from Leamas’ chest to his collar, his neck, his face.  Leamas had a strong face as if he were used to gritting his teeth in determination.  There were flecks of grey in his hair, Fiedler noticed, feeling an odd sensation.  He wanted to know Leamas better, he realized.  Grey flecks meant a lifetime of stories and memories, which Fiedler craved.  

Fiedler blinked in surprise.  He didn’t realize he had leaned in so close to Leamas’ face.  He could feel the man’s breath on his face.  Leamas was smiling faintly, he noticed.

As Fiedler pulled away, he felt something well up.  Was that  _ regret _ ?  

He ran a hand through his own hair.  It  _ was _ .  Regret because that smile hadn’t been for him, it had been for Liz.  

Fiedler gripped the edge of Leamas’ desk chair angrily.  No.   _ No _ .  “No,” he hissed, his lips curled into a sneer.  “I will not fall prey to your sob story, Leamas,” he whispered, as if saying it would make it easier to resist the man’s charms.   _ He’s a capitalist.  An agent of counter-revolution _ .  

However much he stared angrily at the contents of Leamas’ desk, wanting it to give up a clue to what the Englishman was planning, he was inexorably drawn back to the bed.  Leamas had shifted; now one knee lay over Liz’.  Fiedler had barely noticed that the two were naked.  He blushed.  It wasn’t because of Liz- he’d seen her naked for the majority of the time he had been in Berlin, and then the other night.  It was because up until that point, he hadn’t believed Leamas would make love to anybody.   _ Not even me _ , he thought dryly,  _ not really _ .

He had always imagined Leamas half giving in, enchanted by the interrogator’s hands running down his back, being pulled into a passionate kiss or two, even making an unconsciously trying to unbutton his shirt or trousers, fingers moving on their own as Fiedler distracted his attention with soft whispers and the feeling of his eyelashes fluttering against Leamas’ cheek.  He had imagined Leamas pushing him towards the bed even, a strange half-madness in his eyes that Fiedler had long ago given up fearing.  Perhaps they wouldn’t even make it to the bed before Leamas pushed him to the ground hungrily, his hands desperately clawing at Fiedler’s shirt.  

But then, no matter how it played out in Fiedler’s head, Leamas would always,  _ always _ , realize what Fiedler was doing to him and roll off him, retching and cursing Fiedler’s name.

That made Fiedler smile, the way he imagined Leamas saying his name.  The word tinged with fear, anger, hatred, and devotion.

_ Wait.  No.  Don’t think about that.  Don’t- _

He was unbearably close to Leamas’ face again.  The intellectual part of Fiedler wanted him to punch Leamas in the mouth for causing such an inconvenience, while the other half wanted to touch Leamas’ face with his own face.  To see how warm he was.   To hear him breathe.  To-

Was that what a real kiss was for?  Fiedler didn’t really know.  All he knew was that he was attractive and that if he moved his body in a certain way, if he played his hand perfectly as he always did, then he could utterly control people.  Feelings had rarely ever factored into the equation.

Kiss?  Or not kiss?  The question was that simple.  

Leamas was lying there, his lips barely parted, his neck moving ever so gently.  He could take everything from Leamas.  He was sure now.  He could suck the dependency from Leamas’ lips as easily as holding a cherry between his teeth-

Wait no.  He couldn’t.  He wasn’t Liz.  Leamas would never-  Leamas couldn’t  _ possibly _ have any real feelings for him beyond physical desire. 

_ But you could still steal a kiss.  All for yourself.  A memory to savour _ , he thought.  Fiedler blinked.  He was kneeling beside Alec’s bed, staring at the fingers that hung over the side.

_ Breathe.  Breathe _ .

_ You’re pathetic Fiedler, you really are _ .  It was the part of him that sometimes spoke with Mundt’s voice, although unlike Mundt it did not add the customary “fucking little Jew fairy”.  But it wasn’t in Mundt’s cold voice this time, it spoke nothing but the simple truth:  _ You’re pathetic Fiedler, you really are.  Leamas is nothing but a physical, psychological, intellectual and ideological burden. _

Fiedler’s fingers shuddered and he got up and left without another disruptive thought.  The voice was right-  _ He _ was right.  Leamas would only interfere with the Party, and the Party was of the utmost importance.

He lay down mechanically in bed after neatly taking off and folding his clothes and pulling on his nightgown.  Perhaps he would dream tonight, he begun hoping, then quashed the thought.  He shouldn’t  _ want _ dreams, only accept them when they came.  They were not necessary.

Dreams could be thought of as curses or blessings, for in them, Fiedler’s imagination was impossible to control.

 

\---

 

Leamas was awakened by a heavy  _ thunk _ .  His eyes snapped open and his body shot into high alert, as they had been conditioned to do whenever noises like heavy grenades falling to the ground occurred.  He sat bolt upright, frantically searching left and right.  Beside him, Liz’ head rolled, nudging the side of his hips.

His legs slid off the bed and he rushed to the door in a daze.  His fingers grappled with the door handle for an instant before he realized there couldn’t be a grenade in the house.  It was just impossible- this was a safehouse, and Fiedler, Leamas and Liz were the only ones there- they weren’t worth a grenade.

But then what  _ had _ been the source of the noise?

Leamas continued fidgeting with the doorknob, finally opening it with a sigh.  He shuffled half-blindly down the corridor.  Odd.  A slice of moonlight stretched from a crack made between a door and it’s frame, and still half-asleep, he pushed it open.

There was something pale white on the floor next to a bed.

Leamas’ breath caught in his throat.  He hadn’t realized he’d walked into Fiedler’s room.  Fiedler had fallen out of his bed, Leamas realized.  That must have been the cause of the noise.

Nevertheless, Leamas found himself being called forward, bending down over the pile of gently moving white cloth.  

Fiedler was laying in a pool of moonlight, his nightgown ripped down the side as if he’d been fighting himself, exposing his pale ribs.  He was curled into a tight ball, trying to make himself as small as possible.  A hand covered his head, fingers looking like tense spider’s legs as they clawed at face.  His toes were curled inward and the bottom of the nightgown was clutched in Fiedler’s other hand, which he hugged tightly to his chest.   

Leamas felt oddly warm.  He could see Fiedler’s undergarments, and his long legs and the odd beauty in his sharp ankles.

The nightgown was pulled so tightly against Fiedler’s body that Leamas could see the curves of Fiedler’s shoulder and back.  His breathing was too fast for pleasant dreams.

Tentatively, without knowing what he was doing, Leamas reached forward to ease the German’s hand off his face.  

It happened in a flash.

As Leamas’ hand brushed slim white knuckles, Fielder’s eyes flicked open as if he had never really been asleep.  Then however, his eyes widened, and the moonlight glanced off them, giving them an eerie glow.  Fiedler was absolutely still for a single, long moment.

“Ist das ein Traum?”   _ Is this a dream? _

Alec was frozen.  What must this look like?  Alec was naked, and Fiedler was three seconds away and one strip of cloth away from being naked, and Alec had been leaning over the other man… tenderly.  God, he hated to admit that he cared enough for Fiedler to be gentle so as to try not to wake him.

“Ist das ein Traum?”  The same question again.  Fiedler had sat up, and his face was uncomfortably close to Alec’s.  A strand of Fiedler’s hair tickled Leamas’ forehead.  And his eyes, wide and open for Leamas to fall into.  They were lovely, dark and deep, full of promises he could never keep.  There was hidden movement in Fiedler’s eyes, and Leamas knew that if he could watch Fiedler’s face for long enough he would be able to tell what emotions lay beneath.  Their faces were getting closer together.  The breath on his cheeks felt like a summer breeze, tasted like watered down tea leaves.  Fiedler smelled like chamomile… 

Leamas didn’t know what was happening.  He was tired and Fiedler looked like an angel in the dark light and he was the enemy and the Circus’ dangerous puppet in their plan and there was just too much happening and he couldn’t think.

“Ist das ein Traum?”  The moon danced in his eyes.  Fiedler was too close, and Leamas was too easily-

Fiedler leaned back against the bedframe.  “This must be a dream.  You’re not doing… not like how Mundt…”  There was a sort of dazed smile on his face, as if Leamas had exceeded his expectations.

Was Fiedler ill?  Leamas noted the absence of that sickly sweet honey in his voice that drew Leamas to him like a fruit fly.

“You're so odd, Leamas,” Fiedler said, giving him an odd quirk of the lips, a confused smile.  

Something sparked in Leamas’ chest.  This didn't seem like another of Fiedler’s masks.

“It’s tiring, trying to break you- getting you to love me.  Getting you to fuck me, it's so unnecessary, and I think you know it.  I'd rather-”

Fiedler blinked.  “...know you.”

He looked down at himself, at his torn nightgown and back at Leamas.  His chest rose and fell with increasing speed.  “No.  I was having a nigh- a different dream.  This isn't a dream, is it,” he whispered.

“No,” Alec whispered hoarsely, “It’s not.”  The truth had slipped from him at the sight of the weakness in Fiedler’s lips, his eyes.

It was as if something had swung shut behind Fiedler’s eyes, for suddenly Alec could perceive no emotions whatsoever.  There was only a cold, determined ruthlessness.

Fiedler was quiet.  Evidently he was angry at himself for showing weakness in front of a defector- Alec would have felt the same in his position- but he was hiding it quite well.

After a moment, Fiedler broke out into a sly grin.  Alec wondered how false it was.

“It doesn't  _ really  _ matter how I feel about you, only how you feel about  _ me _ ,” he said.  His voice was sweet as he came closer, his breath warm honey in Alec’s ears.

Fiedler had been slumped against the bedframe with his nightgown pulled around him while Alec was sprawled on the floor across from him.  

Now, Fiedler was almost unbearably close.  Somehow, the younger man had taken hold of both of Alec’s arms and used them to pull the two men together.  Leamas felt the sharp twinge of pain in his thigh as Fiedler placed his knees high up on both of Leamas’ legs and used them to push himself up so that he was looking down on Leamas with his lovely, dark eyes.  As he kneeled on Leamas’ thighs, he gave a quiet laugh as he felt Alec’s breath catch in his throat in shock, pain and then obsession.

The hands then traced their way around Leamas’ back and then up his neck, into his hair, intoxicating Leamas with the smell of chamomile blooms as Fiedler pressed Alec’s head into his pale stomach.

Fiedler held Leamas in that way for a long, tantalizing moment, then he leaned forward, using his body weight to pin Leamas to the ground.

“You can refuse nothing when you're in love, Leamas,” he said, mock-playfully.  He knew exactly what he was doing.

He slowly drew a finger up the center of Alec’s body, starting at the base of his stomach and trailing up through where his rib cage met and lingering on his collarbone, finally coming to a stop at Leamas’ adam’s apple which rose and fell in time with their breathing.

Leamas tried to rise, his shoulders lifting from the floor but Fiedler slammed him down by pressing his other hand sharply into Alec’s chest.  It made a quiet  _ thump _ .

Fiedler leaned closer, his smile demented in the glowing moonlight.  “I can feel your heartbeat,” he whispered, tongue running playfully over his lips, “you're afraid.”

He laughed again.  Leamas couldn't keep himself from that laugh, that perfect moonlight angel who smelled like a thousand butterfly wings.  For a moment he forgot himself- the self he was for the Circus.  He forgot about the plan and Liz and Smiley.  There was only something too lovely  laughing in the space above him.

His arms reached up, wrapping around Fiedler’s back, fingers pulling at the cloth of the nightgown.  Leamas rolled over, pinning Fiedler beneath him as he began to kiss his hair, his cheeks, his neck-

Leamas pulled back for a breath, his hungry fingers further tearing the nightgown with a ripping noise that mingled with Fiedler’s false, delighted laughter, exposing Fiedler’s delicate, beautiful body.

Leamas began at Fiedler’s chest, caressing upwards with hands and lips, until he reached Fiedler’s collarbone, sharp in the moonlight.  

“You're mine, Leamas,” Fiedler whispered in a tone Alec couldn't recognize.  Of course Leamas would not have recognized those emotions in Fiedler's voice, after all Fiedler had never taken a sad or regretful tone with him before.

With one hand Leamas fingered the edge of Fiedler’s underwear, ready to slide it down, while with the other he combed Fiedler’s hair and stroked his cheeks.

They were wet.

Leamas froze.   _ Oh.  God.  What had he done?  What had he almost-  _

Leamas stumbled back, away from Fiedler’s prone form.  Shit, Fiedler had almost completely done it.  If he'd gone further, he would never have been able to tear himself away from Fiedler, the angel who was now bathed in shadow _. _

“Jens-” his breath caught.  “Fiedler,” he corrected, “you’re a twisted bastard,” he spat.  He was disgusted at himself and felt a poisonous burning at even thinking Fiedler’s name.

Fiedler made a humming noise at ‘Jens’ but otherwise said nothing.

Leamas looked at Fiedler, prepared to see cruel joy in his eyes.  But there was only water.  

Fiedler was crying.

Tears flowed down his face, glazing his sad little smile.

“Fiedler, what's wrong?” His tone had completely shifted.  He hadn't meant to ask, but the words just seemed to flow.  

“I'm all alone.  I really am nothing more to you than something beautiful, I've realized.  You'll do what I want because you, for some reason, need to fuck me.  And that's not love.  Not the love I need you to have for me.  You're broken- you're mine- you cannot resist me, but there’s something missing…”

He breathed deeply, face still wet.

Instantly, Leamas’ unwilling tenderness vanished to be replaced with acidic anger.  “Who cares if it's ‘love’?  I hate you for what you're doing to me.  I didn't leave the goddamn Circus for this, and I'd leave right now if this weren't the safest place this side of the wall,” Leamas growled, getting to his feet.  Fiedler still lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling.  “And don't you  _ dare  _ think that I’m broken- I'm not.”

He left, leaving Fiedler to echo to himself, “Who cares if it's ‘love’?” under the moon that was drowning beneath the treetops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiedler is leaning towards asexual in this taadaa honestly in this fic i just can't see him actually caring about looks etc he just appreciates that alec probably has a pretty face but that's not really what he's looking for
> 
> in his own words, fiedler would probably say "it's a purely intellectual attraction"


	9. The Whole Ghastly Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Go to hell.” He couldn't listen to this- he couldn't take this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when you give in to pear pressure

 

Everyone ate breakfast at different times.  Alec had come downstairs to find food on the table.  Liz was still asleep.

Alec chewed on the plain bread slowly, not even trying to taste the bland spread.  The screen door was open and Fiedler’s shoes were gone.

The pictures of dictators, universal shrines to Stalin, Lenin and company that were found in any household on this side of the wall, glared down at him.

Leamas rubbed his face.  He'd not fallen asleep, and he doubted Fiedler had either.  

_Tell him.  Tell him._

_You’ll blow the plan._

_Tell him._

_The plan._

How could he do both?

Wait.  He could- no.  He couldn't.

_Tell him._

_The plan._

_Don't tell him about the plan, then, but tell him the other thing._

Leamas pulled on his boots.  He was fairly sure he knew were Fiedler was.

 

\---

 

There were two ducks waddling around on the ground in front of the bench.  Fiedler tossed a mite of bread- barely a scrap- and watched as they fought over it.  Eventually, one would manage to eat it before the other stole it, and Fiedler would toss them another piece.

An onlooker would have winced at the German’s sadistic little game, but Leamas just laughed.

Fiedler didn't even move.

Leamas sat down next to him, making a noise of disgust as Fiedler tossed another crumb, making both ducks flap around angrily as they leapt into the water.

There was a long silence.  Alec wanted to say it.  He had to.  He _had_ to.

“I believe I've figured a piece of the puzzle,” Fiedler said.  

Leamas words died in his throat.

“Are you aware that George Smiley visited Miss Gold after you defected?”  Fiedler asked.  His tone was unreadable, as if the previous night’s events had never happened.

Alec sighed.  He'd been expecting Fiedler to prise the answer to ‘George Smiley’ from his lips with his own.  But there was no use hiding the truth now, since Liz had already revealed it to Fiedler.  

“I didn't know about it until I asked Liz last night,” he said bitterly.  “I don't know why Smiley visited her, Fiedler I swear.”

Fiedler hummed, mind racing to complete the puzzle, and for a moment he looked so much more open.  “It doesn’t make sense for Smiley to come calling at all.  If they’d wanted to find you, they'd have sent someone less recognizable and more persuasive, like Ashe,” Fiedler mused, smiling a bit at the last words.

How could he be like this after last night? thought Leamas.

“That leaves us with two options.  Either Smiley was careless and genuinely _wanted_ to help Liz because of your connection with her, or the Circus made or let Smiley go on purpose.”

“So what?” Leamas said, bitter.  He didn't care about this.  Not right now.  Not while Fiedler was sitting _right there_.  “Smiley was an old friend of mine, until he left me to rot at a desk job.”

“Circus must have been watching you, to know where you were and that you had fallen in love with Liz.  You kept your relationship very secret, as I recall, meaning that Smiley could not have visited Miss Gold without the Circus knowing about it.  And why would the Circus just let Smiley waltz in with his money that would draw questions like flies to a light?  Mmh?”  Fiedler hummed, his lips twisted into a thoughtful grimace.  “And, as I’ve told you before, it was not us who blew your cover- the English service did that all on its own.  Almost as if they suspected your defection.”

Fiedler uncrossed his legs and took the last meager morsel of bread out, holding it in his hands for the ducks to see.  They began to squawk around, wings flapping angrily to get in front of the other, eager to snatch Fiedler’s food from the air first.  Fiedler laughed a cruel, dry laugh and popped the bread into his own mouth.  The ducks beat their wings furiously at each other, then flew off, frustrated out of their tiny little minds, to the other side of the small lake.  “You have not been telling me the whole truth, Mister Leamas,” Fiedler said, swallowing, “and these suspicious developments make me see your information in a new light.”  

He stood up.  They would walk now.  Back to the house by some convoluted route through the woods.

“What?”

“I find it interesting how all the new information we gained from you has served a singular purpose.”

“What?” Leamas repeated, indignant this time.  He was beginning to feel very cold.

“It stinks of a set-up, but I wonder if you know for whom?”

“Really Fiedler, you aren’t making any sense at all.  What the hell do you want from me?  You’ve already proven I can’t keep my fucking eyes of your goddamn pretty-” his breath stumbled over itself, “I-mean-shitty- face!”

“I want the truth.”  Fiedler’s eyes were icy, dark and unfeeling as hard rock.  “Are you really a defector?  Or are you a double agent, trying to exact your revenge on the GDR?”  Fiedler’s voice was sharp.  “Why would Circus, who must have been monitoring you, so promptly demand for your arrest?  It seems they'd been tipped off by a mole on our side, which supports my theory that we have a leak, but then why allow Smiley to approach Miss Gold and run the risk of the mole being blown when the Stasi puts the puzzle back together?”

“Why the fuck are you asking _me_ ?  I've never known more that a quarter of any plan except for the ones I was running- and how the hell am I supposed to know anything about the Circus after I went back?  They left me at a _desk job_ , remember?”

“Leamas, I see it in your eyes, you're keeping something from me,” Fiedler whispered.  Was that a hint of frustration?  For the first time since he'd woken Fiedler from his dream, Leamas thought he saw something of the real man behind the German interrogator.  “Has this been a setup?” Fiedler’s voice was little more than a whisper, to quiet for Leamas to know if it was one of anger or horror or mourning.  He was open.

He was so open, Alec didn't speak.  He could not tear himself away from Fiedler, who was himself a brightly polished gemstone, sharp and hard and cold and _clear_.

 _Tell him_.

_No, shut up._

_TELL HIM._

“I’m-  I think I have feelings-for-you-so-don't-think-that-I-love-only-the-way-you-look-because-you're-so-much-more-than-the-shell-you-pretend-to-be.”  The words sort of tumbled out in a burning, jagged mess, too fast and-

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Even though he was certain that Fiedler just wanted to humiliate him, Alec was relieved to do the moment over.  “I said,” he began, “I have feelings for you, so don't think that I love only the way you look, because you're so much more than the shell you pretend to be.”

It was like watching a child do something for the first time- suddenly Alec could see _everything_ , every emotion and thought and feeling could be seen through Fiedler's deep brown eyes that were shining too bright because they were wet.

“Are you sure this isn't a trick to change the subject?” He said shakily, leaning on the trunk of a tree as if he would fall.

Leamas smiled, drawing slightly nearer.  “Might be, but I-”

Fiedler was against him, spinning him around and pinning him to the tree trunk, face dark and agonized.  “Don't play me Leamas, don't- I swear to God Leamas-”

“Fiedler I'm serious, I have-” but Alec’s voice was cut off by a jab of Fiedler's fingers to his windpipe.

“I will torture Liz, Leamas,” Fiedler’s breath was ragged, eyes slightly deranged.  Alec could see pain in that face.  Fiedler didn't want to do this.  But he would.  He would because the Party meant everything to him.  

Fiedler let go of Leamas’ collar.  Leamas stayed, leaning against the tree trunk.

He could do nothing but gaze up in shock.  Fiedler was so ideologically pure.  Then the realization of what Fiedler had just said sank in, those words like acid in his veins.

“God help you Leamas I will shoot her through the throat, watch her bleed out all over you and then trap you into fucking me and you will absolutely _hate_ yourself and blame yourself for _everything_ ,” Fiedler hissed, turning away and striding with long steps toward the house.

“Go to hell.”  He couldn't listen to this- he couldn't take this.

Fiedler whirled around.  His face was expressive to the utmost degree, but the wealth of emotions contained within was indecipherable.

“We’ll make love in the same bed that I fucked Liz and her blood will be everywhere and you'll be so attracted to me that that won't even matter to you-”

“Not another goddamn word, Fiedler.  Not another _goddamn word._ ”  His vision was blurring.

“The body will even be in the same room as us the entire time-”

Leamas’ hand moved in an uncontrollable blur, and Fiedler reeled off Leamas with bright red spreading across his face.

“I said, not another word.”  Leamas’ voice was low, dangerous, hovering barely over a whisper.  

“I have feelings for you, alright?” he spat at Fiedler.  They were walking again.  “That’s all I wanted to say.  It’s not a trick, alright?  I can't lie about that to you.  Not when you look like your insides are made of broken glass.”

Fiedler’s eyes seemed to haze over with even more pain, but he somehow managed to keep the melody of his voice even.  “Then please Alec,” he said, stopping.  They were out of the woods now.  That alluring false sweetness that had drowned Alec before was gone. “Please tell me the _truth_.”

He wanted to know the plan.  Fiedler looked as if he'd die if he didn't find out, as if he would just wither away with the wind.  Leamas couldn't stand Fiedler looking like fine china at the edge of the table.  But the plan.  The Circus.

“Fiedler I don't _know_ -”

The German seemed to collapse on himself.  His head fell, his shoulders caved in, his brows lost their feeling.  He slowly placed his head in his hands, bent over double as if he'd run a long distance.  “Alec, Alec don't make me do this- Alec please stop me-” he whispered weakly, eyes wide open and staring at the ground.  Then his voice hardened.  “Damn you Leamas, you deserve this.”

“Liz!” Fiedler called, straightening up.  They were right outside the house.  Fiedler’s voice was that siren song that floats farther than it should, somehow loud and gentle at the same time.  

His hand moved purposefully to his holster under his blue jacket where he kept his gun.  Leamas tried not to notice how the holster straps made Fiedler’s grey shirt hug at his chest.   _God, shut up_ , he thought to himself, half terrified, half entranced.  

Fiedler was about to kill _Liz_ for God’s sake, and Leamas was thinking about how-

The light made Fiedler sharper, flashed through his piercing eyes, cast jagged shadows down his throat which highlighted his adam’s apple and shone dangerously on his almost crimson lips.  

Leamas hung his head.  “No.  Fiedler.  Wait.”  And it was as simple as that.  He was done playing this game.  The Circus was like a half-remembered bad dream; seeing Fiedler like this was a real nightmare.

“Mundt.  It's all Mundt.”  Leamas’ voice was hollow.  

There was a long pause.  “What do you mean?”

Leamas hadn't been expecting such a tone.  It lacked the customary gloat, the sweetness of voice, the languid spaces between words.  After all, he was broken now, right?  But Fiedler’s voice just _was_.  

Leamas sighed, stumbling back a little numbly.  His knees felt a bit weak.  “It was a setup, you were right Fiedler.  You were right-” His world was a bit shaky around the edges.  “Fiedler do you think we can sit down, I think-”  This time, Leamas stumbled forward into the other man, who was taken by surprise.  

“Yes, yes of course,” he said, flustered, heaving one of Alec’s shoulders over his own.  Leamas noticed how small the interrogator was.  He smelled like long nights talking by candlelight when the power’s been cut, like the curls of chamomile tea steam.

They almost managed it to the small table in the garden before Liz opened the screen door.  “Jens?” she asked, “I heard you calling.  Wait, Alec, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, just feeling a little faint,” he said.  It was a lie.  He felt worse at the very sight of her, sick, as if her pale nightgown was already sucked to her skin with blood.  He could feel the icy knuckles of the gun underneath Fiedler’s jacket.  Little sparks twittered at the edge of his vision.

“Liz could you go get him some water?” He could hear Fiedler asking sweetly as they sat him down at the garden table.  He heard the crunch of gravel as Liz skipped away.

The moment the door closed, Leamas glanced at Fiedler.  “Please, please don't hurt Liz-”

A thousand calculations were going on behind the German’s eyes, and Leamas could not figure out a single one.

 _You blew the plan_.  Yes.  He was still weak at the knees from that.  He felt better, but worse, but the Circus was so far away and Fiedler was so close.

“I don't have to if you be honest with me, Alec.”  Fiedler had never said his name with that much thought behind it.  

Leamas’ head was still spinning, but he nodded.  “It was all a plot.  Mundt was too good, and we needed to stop him.  Framing him for betrayal was the most effective way of getting him out of the picture.  We didn't want to have to deal with Mundt’s friends if we'd just had him assassinated.”

Fiedler’s eyes betrayed absolutely nothing, but he was leaning forward over the table, chin in hand, attention never leaving Leamas.  The wind fluttered through his dark hair.

“So we arranged everything- I would go to wherever our intelligence said Mundt would be in a few days and drop off large sums of money,” Leamas went on.  The words couldn't stop now that he had allowed them to escape.

“What became of the money?”

Leamas shrugged.  “It could have been picked up by a different agent, or the Circus might just have withdrawn it and kept it for themselves.  Wouldn't put it past Control, to be honest.”

Fiedler bit his lip, evidently deep in thought.

“Fiedler, about what I said earlier, about feelings, that wasn't a lie,” Leamas blurted.

The German blinked.  “Oh?”  Fiedler’s eyes seemed to accidentally slide off Alec’s own.  He gave a hollow laugh.  “Well I suppose that means I've won, then,” he said with mock-bravado.

Why did Fiedler sound so drained?  Surely it must be fulfilling to have yet another person desperately vying to serve him, Leamas thought.  After all, that's what Fiedler had alluded to last night: that the real love was equivalent to Leamas being broken.  Broken.  How sad, to have someone become such a plaything- broken.  In fact Leamas conceded that he was broken, after all, he would do anything for Fiedler, who had the perfect leverage to manipulate him into doing anything- his ‘feelings’ and Liz.

Perhaps it _was_ draining to be surrounded by people who would do anything for you.  There was no interpersonal spark, no excitement.  It was just… hollow.  There were no friends, only receiver of information and output of information.  How perfectly mechanical.  Hollow.

And then a thought occurred to Alec.  It was absolutely preposterous, but-

“Fiedler, you're not in _love_ with me, are you?”

A heartbeat worth of silence.  

“It is nothing but… “ Fiedler paused, caught wrong footed. “It is nothing more than intellectual curiosity,” he amended.  “Is it not,” he faltered again, “natural to want to know more,” he hesitated.  “About _you,”_ he half mumbled.

 _God_ , Leamas thought, _God, he’s like a child with this._

“As a separate entity from your Circus?”

It was like being back in school.  “So, you don't like me,” Leamas said.

“No,” Fiedler said quickly.

“So you _do_ like me.”  Alec was beaming.

Fiedler gave him a look.  “It’s complicated and irrelevant.  Now tell me more about this plan of the Circus’.  The one to ‘frame Mundt’ as you say.”

“Well I was to act like a defector, of course.  Tease the information about those trips so you thought you were realizing he was a traitor all by yourself.”

Fiedler’s expression soured.  “So while I was playing you, you were playing me,” he muttered.  His perfect knuckles were an unhealthy white, each purple vein shining through.  His smile was stretched, as if the slightest touch would tear him open.  He paused.

Liz came out with a glass of water, looking concerned.  “Is everything alright?” she asked.

Alec nodded.  “Fiedler and I were just talking.  Do you think you could give us a while?  It's important.”

Liz looked distressed, but left them both be.  

Fiedler waited until the screen door clicked shut.  “Start from the beginning,” he said, “Tell me absolutely everything.”

And Alec did, starting right from the point where he'd seen Riemeck spattered across the snow up until he'd met Fiedler for the first time.

Fiedler was a good listener.  He remained respectfully silent, and he would take it all in.  Occasionally, during a break in Leamas’ speech, he would ask a clarifying question in that quiet knife-gleam of an accent.

At long last, Leamas finally finished.

The look in Fiedler’s eyes told Alec that he'd figured something out.  Their eyes would not meet.  “And you're sure,” he asked, “you are absolutely sure that that was everything that happened?  Smiley and Control said nothing more to you?”  His voice seemed strained, as if he'd seen clean through a crude play at chess.

“Of course.  Why the hell would I leave any of that out?  You’re the one with the gun, remember?”

Fiedler sighed, giving him an odd, sad little smile.  It was relieved, but ever the more sad.  

“What, have you figured something out?”

“I couldn't bear to see the hurt in your face if I told you.”

Leamas snorted.  “So you _do_ love me,” he said.

Oddly enough, Fiedler let the topic of discussion slide.

“I am,” he began, “curious, that is all.  Nothing like the physical desire you feel,” he paused, and they both heard the unsaid words, _like how you were last night._

“Why are you like this all of a sudden?” Leamas interjected.

“Like what?”

“Telling _me_ things, being not, well, you know,” Leamas actually blushed.

Fiedler gave a sad little laugh.  “Seductive?  Is that the word you are looking for?” he asked.

Leamas nodded mutely.

The German’s smile widened.  “I seduce with the intent to break.  And you are broken now.  You would do anything for me, no?”

Leamas gave a sick nod.

“Then I see no point in maintaining the facade.”  He smiled a little coldly.  “I almost had you with that old trick before you got cold feet at the thought of Liz’s fate had you not cooperated.”

“You mean last night.”

Fiedler hummed.  “Not my best work, I'll admit.  But you did take me by surprise.  I-” he paused, seeming to realize that he was actually telling Leamas something.  

“Go on,” Leamas said, and surprisingly, Fiedler did.

“I really did think that it was a dream, you know, at least until you gave it away.  Could've spilled all my secrets, made a horrible mess.”

Leamas was bursting with questions, but could see he wouldn't get anything of substance from the interrogator if he asked directly.   _Which secrets_?  

“If you don't mind me asking, what was the dream you were having before?”

He saw Fiedler’s small frown, knew that they both knew that Fiedler was debating whether or not to lie.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Fiedler said evasively.

“Oh come on Fiedler, you've already proven I'd do anything for you.  As someone who’s ‘intellectually curious’ about me you might as well _pretend_ to reciprocate.”

Fiedler rolled his eyes, faraway sadness momentarily forgotten.  “I walk into my room to find Mundt in uniform, holding a picture of some family. He asks who they are and I tell him.  He says he'll be in touch with them.  And then the door is locked and he rapes me.  He also insults my religion.”  It was simple.  Casual.  Throwaway.  No one should ever talk like that, Leamas thought.

“You say that like it's a joke.”

Fiedler shrugged.  He looked impassive despite the subject matter.  “It’s just a dream.  It shouldn't be taken seriously.”

Leamas had nothing to say about that.  Of course dreams weren't real, but dreams _were_ a product of a person’s memories and emotions.

For some reason, Fiedler kept talking.  “But going back to your original question, I don't _need_ to seduce you anymore.  Unless,” Fiedler sighed, “unless it will… jog your memory, so to speak.”

Leamas started laughing.  “God, Fiedler, you really _are_ smitten.”  He shook his head.  “I just don't know what you see in me.”

“Tell me about how Control treated Riemeck,” Fiedler said, changing the subject.

“They talked together once.  I wasn't allowed to join them.”

“How did Riemeck act when you were with him?”

Leamas smiled.  “Well I’m afraid my memories are a bit rusty.  Perhaps you could help me remember?”

For once, he was in control, and he felt the rush of euphoria as Fiedler sighed, slowly getting up from the lacelike metal chair.  The folds in Fiedler’s clothing were beautiful to watch shift.

“ _Alec_ ,” he said, pacing around Leamas’ chair, his voice the purest taste of sweet.  There was even maybe perhaps something possibly genuine there too.  

“Alec what?” Leamas asked, trying to sound like Fiedler’s voice wasn't already making his toes curl.

“Alec,” Fiedler said, humouring him, a small little smile flitting over his lips.  “You're hopeless.”  Fiedler began playing with Alec’s hair, gently winding it around a delicate finger.  Leamas involuntarily relaxed, resting the back of his head in the cup of Fiedler’s palms, leaning back so that he was staring at the calm grey sky as Fiedler’s cool fingers soothed the warmth behind his ears.  His eyes closed as wind caressed his face.  This was… perfect.

“How did Riemeck react when you were with him?” came the gentle voice.  It was barely audible, seeming to be coming from inside Alec’s head.  Leamas was utterly relaxed, and he let his voice slide.  It was all just so lovely.

“Riemeck always acted like he was special.  You know.  Thought he was indispensable.  He was, of course, he was the closest we got to the top, but he seemed to think he was the most special.  His talk with Control made him even more overconfident, I think.”

Fiedler hummed a lullaby hum, making Leamas feel even more at ease.  “Tell me absolutely everything about your missions before you were assigned to the Berlin residence,” he whispered.  A thumb rolled over a muscle in the back of Alec’s neck.  He felt the tension leave him under those fingers.  He would tell Fiedler anything.  Alec thought he finally understood how Fiedler would have broken him through seduction.

He would have given in utterly.  He already had.

 _If this is what it means to be broken,_ Alec thought, as Fiedler used two fingers to ease Leamas’ limp head forward, _I should never have resisted._

“Control would usually give me half the details- no one knew the whole plan just in case one of us was caught- there was no way to blow the missions that way.”  He rambled, spilling everything he knew.  

The hands became increasingly firm, unknotting all of Alec’s worries as he sat in the chair with his eyes closed, but there was a tenseness to them too.

Alec’s ramblings paused.  “Fiedler?  Are you alright?”

Something warm splashed onto Alec’s neck.

“Fiedler?”

“I think it's about to rain,” the man said.  There was a distant rumble as if to corroborate his story.

Leamas dipped a finger in the liquid and licked.

“Fiedler, it’s salty, what’s wrong?”

“There is nothing wrong.”  His voice had that second-language clip to it.   

“You're _crying_ -” Again.  “ _Fiedler what’s wrong?_ ”  Leamas opened his eyes and craned his head back to look at the German.  Fiedler was outlined in the heavy clouds.

“Tears of relief,” he said with a sad, sad smile.  

“At what?”

“At how you don't see this ghastly game.”

“What game?  Speak sense, Fiedler- German if you have to-”

“You really can't see through it?  You really don't know?”

“See through what game?  Fiedler?”

“I don't want you to hurt for me.  You're better off not knowing.”

“Damnit, Jens-”

Fiedler let out a small hiccup and another tear dripped onto Leamas, his chin.  Alec had used his name.  Alec had-

“I can't stand to see you hurt Alec-”

“I'm already hurt because you won't tell me what's wrong- how am I supposed to help-”

“We admitted our feelings _today_ and now you act as if we’re married,” Fiedler said with a shaky laugh.

“Don't change the subject, I know what you're trying to do-”

“You're happier not knowing.”

“I’ll be damn happy if I can _help_ you, damnit!”

Another tear.

“Jens.  Please.”

A long, long pause, in which thunder roiled, getting closer.  Real rain began to fall, tiny mist-like droplets that cooled Leamas’ skin.

Fiedler began to speak in that intellectual tone of his.  The one reserved for argument and explanation.

“You're used to not knowing the entire plan.  And yet for this one you seem to know it all: take down Comrade Mundt.  It doesn’t fit.  There’s no continuity.”

Leamas was quiet.

“Assuming that taking out Mundt was truly the goal, then why did the Circus blow your cover with Miss Gold by visiting her and warrants for your arrest before you’d even defected?  It stinks of a tipoff from our side, but also a setup.”  

Alec was getting a cold feeling in his stomach.  This was going in a terrifying direction, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out the final destination.

“Why _purposefully_ sabotage your own mission, deliberately hint that it was all just a plot to remove someone from the equation, unless-”

It hit him, and Leamas understood with horrifying clarity the whole ghastly trick.

“It gives Mundt a counter argument,” he whispered hoarsely.  Rain was beginning to fall in earnest.

Fiedler nodded slowly, squeezing Leamas’ shoulder.

“Mundt really _is_ your man, meaning that the real plan is to eliminate me, is it not?”

Leamas leaned forward, pulling himself from Fiedler’s- Jens’- hands.  He propped his elbows on the table, burying his face in his palms.  God, what had he _done_?  

He'd been killing Fiedler- he’d been _saving Mundt._ “Jens,   _Jens_ I’m sorry- I-” his voice broke.  Rain dripped down his arms.

“Don’t be.  It doesn't matter-”

“They’re going to _kill_ you, Jens,” Leamas growled pathetically into his palms.  

“Not necessarily.  There is still… time.”  He rested a hand on Leamas’ shoulder.  “I'm not sure if I regret telling you.”

“Better this way,” Leamas muttered into his hands.

They were still and silent, like garden statues, cheap reproductions of the Thinker darkened by the rain.

“Can we walk?”

The rain was heavy, nearly drowning out Leamas’ voice with a rhythmic patter.  Fiedler nodded, extending a hand to help Alec up.  Droplets shimmered on the fine hair of his lower arm.

They began to dig the familiar path through the trees and around the lake.  

Their boots squelched, their clothes were dripping.  Jens looked at Alec.  “If I give you this,” he held up a hand, “will it make you feel better?”

Leamas nodded, cupping the fine thing gently in his own.  He squeezed it.  It felt _there_.

The sound of the warm summer rain hushing the countryside was pleasant.  They didn't have to speak, but Fiedler did.

“I'm sorry I had to use Liz.  You remember that phone call?”

Leamas nodded.

“Berlin Apparat wanted to break you faster.  They'd gotten a hold of Liz for me.”

A lump hardened in the back of Leamas’ throat.  “But if you had to do it all again, would you still have used her as leverage?”

“Of course,” Fiedler said.  It was so obvious.   _Anything for the Party._

But Leamas thought he understood.

After a sad, long, lovely while, Leamas and Fiedler reached the bench that lay just out of reach of the tree’s protective leaves.  They sat together.

Their shoulders and knees rested against each other comfortably, all equally soaked by the fat water droplets pouring from the sky.

“Are quite sure that your feelings are more than physical?”  Jens asked.

The rain was deafening.

“Am I what?”  Alec shouted.  Thunder chuckled nearby.

“Are you sure your feelings are more than physical desire!” Fiedler yelled.

“Yes!  The way you're pragmatic, idealistic and optimistic all at the same time, your loyalty, the way you _think about everything_ -” Leamas squeezed Fiedler’s hand again, “I think…” then louder, “I think I'm in _love_ with you!”

Fiedler’s eyelashes were sparkling with droplets as he smiled.  He leaned over, straining to reach his mouth to Leamas’ ear.

“I think I’m in love with you too,” he said.

Despite it all, despite everything they had both done to each other, they were both smiling like it was a dream.

“You can,” Fiedler said, loud enough for Alec to hear.  “If you would like.”  They both knew what he was talking about.

It was wonder.  Both their faces were cool with rain, hair curling in rats tails as water trickled off them.  The water made everything softer as the thunder played behind them.  The sun didn't come out.

There was something too about how they were pressed together, their clothes cold with water but if held close for long enough, it was possible to feel the warm, living skin beneath.

It was an embrace.  A french one.


End file.
